


Doldrums

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [33]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discoveries are made, planning is done, and January keeps plodding along. Also, doughnuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

They’re finishing up with football practice on Wednesday when Mike hangs back to talk to Finn. “Remember how I managed to get Schue to give me the key to the auditorium, back in September?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, with a grin. “He’s kind of a pushover. Or else you have, like, mad ninja skills. Maybe both. Why?”

Mike grins. “I never gave it back. He’s never asked.” He drops one shoulder and half-smirks. “I’ve been watching us dancing, and we’ve made good progress on the arrangements and solos; I’m sure we’ll finish that in the morning, since we have double the amount of time. But I was thinking that on Saturday, maybe we should do an all-day thing. Work out all of the choreography for Regionals. Because, well. We’re going to have to start on everything for Nationals _before_ Regionals, if we want to do anything even half as complex, dancing-wise.”

Finn feels his face go white, though he’s not sure if it’s because of the dancing or of thinking ahead to Nationals before they’ve managed to knock Regionals out of the park, but he has to admit that Mike has a point. “Ok,” he says, grudgingly, because he did have _some_ plans on Saturday. “You’re right. I don’t want you to be right, but you’re definitely right.”

Mike laughs. “I figured Saturday rather than Monday, because it seems, I don’t know, a little less ridiculous than coming to school on a day we explicitly have off.”

“No, you’re right, dude. We need to nail this. Not winning Regionals just isn’t an option,” Finn says, shaking his head. “We have to get this right.”

“Let’s plan on five or six hours. If we get it sooner, everyone will go home happy that it didn’t take as long.”

“Sounds like a plan. Hopefully I don’t mess us up with my awesome moves,” Finn snorts.

“Well, you’re willing to practice,” Mike points out.

“Dude, _practice_ and practice.” Finn shakes his head. “I can’t be the weak link and I got tired of feeling like I was. I’m never gonna be a great dancer or anything, but I’m tired of sucking at it. I dunno, I think I’m improving.”

“No, you are.” Mike smiles sort of wryly. “It’s just apparently poor form to point out anyone else’s lack of dancing prowess.”

“It’s ok,” Finn says, shrugging. “I’m used to it being ‘Pick on Finn’ year or whatever. I’m a bad dancer and I’m man enough to admit it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Mike grins. “Okay, you’ll let everyone know? And once we have the choreography worked out, we can use our fifteen minutes on Wednesdays to start workshopping some ideas for Nationals.”

“Sweet!” Finn says, putting up his fist for a bump. “Now, you think you can explain to me why we didn’t have this brilliant idea _last_ year?”

“Well, this week last year we were trying to convince Azimio and Karofsky to stay on the football team.”

“Energy well spent, I guess,” Finn says. “Still, I wish we’d figured out that we needed to take charge of glee _before_ we were seniors, man. Leadership Qualities fail, right there.”

 

“But I don’t understand _why_ , Mindy.”

“I don’t recall ever having said we were exclusive, Artie,” Mindy snaps at him. “It’s not my problem if you made an ass out of you by assuming.”

“I thought things were going so well, though,” Artie says. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Things were great,” Mindy agrees. “I mean, you’re so... _nice_ , you know?”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, you’re nice, and you’re sweet, and your mom still picks out all your clothes for you,” Mindy explains, giving Artie an almost pitying look, and that hurts almost as bad as the cheating. “But Joseph is _exciting_.”

“Of course he’s exciting!” Artie says. “He’s got a robotic arm. It has _flames_ painted on it. How am I supposed to compete with something like that?”

“Well...I guess you can’t, really,” Mindy answers, shrugging. “I just need a little more motor in my boat.”

“I have motor,” Artie says, hating the pleading sound in his own voice.

“Sorry, hotwheels,” Mindy sighs, and she does sound sorry, which doesn’t make it suck any less. “It’s nothing personal. You’re a really nice guy.”

“Everybody keeps telling me that,” Artie says, “but I don’t think they mean it as a compliment.”

“That’s life for you,” Mindy offers. “Nice guys finish last.”


	2. Off Campus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people eat during lunchtime.

Casey got David’s text during third period, so instead of heading to lunch with David, he’s heading to the library to hang out. It’s not that he _can’t_ find someone else to sit with; today he just doesn’t particularly want to. Lunch, which is otherwise pretty boring and repetitive, is just... _better_ with David there to talk to.

As he walks towards the library, wishing it were at least a PFLAG Tuesday, he sees Puck and Kurt coming down the hallway from the direction of the auditorium. Casey watches how they walk, too close together for regular friends, almost touching, sometimes their shoulders grazing against each other, and Casey marvels how everybody at the school doesn’t just take one look at them and figure it out. It seems so obvious now.

“Hey, Casey!” Puck looks up and greets him. “How’s it going?”

“Hi! Hey, Puck, Kurt!” Casey smiles at them both. “It’s going okay, I guess. I was just going to the library for lunch.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no food in there,” Puck points out, grinning. He exchanges a look with Kurt, who nods like he’s answering a question. “Want to go off campus with us?”

“Oh, sure! Where are you going?” Casey doesn’t go off campus very often, but Puck and Kurt are pretty much the coolest, after David, so it sounds like a good opportunity.

“We were thinking Joey’s,” Kurt supplies, as Puck brings a friendly arm around Casey’s shoulders and starts steering him out the door with them. Casey frowns, because of course they’re headed to lunch. Why didn’t he think of that? Most people _eat_ lunch at lunch time.

“Oh, you mean lunch,” Casey says, trying to dig his heels in a little and slow Puck down. “Yeah, I don’t think I can go to lunch today, I’m sorry guys. It’s nice of you to ask me, though!”

“Nope, too late,” Puck announces cheerfully, propelling Casey forward. “I think you’re a Greek Dog guy. Gyro Dog, maybe.”

“Really, Puck, I think I should probably stay here,” Casey protests, trying to disentangle himself from Puck’s deceptively firm grip. He hates having to confess that he just doesn’t have the money for eating off campus. He doesn’t have the money for eating _on_ campus, most days.

“You’d be doing us a favor, actually.” Kurt waves a small piece of paper in his hand. “The last time Finn was in, they made him use his free dog the same day he filled his card. We’re two stamps short, but neither one of us is hungry enough for a second dog.”

“Oh, are...you’re sure?” Casey asks, relaxing a little under Puck’s arm.

“Definitely.” Puck pushes the door open. “As long as you don’t mind sitting in the back.”

“I don’t mind!” Casey’s surprised when Puck climbs into the driver’s seat of Kurt’s Navigator. Kurt seems preoccupied, not in a bad mood or anything, just less talkative than usual. Puck makes up for it, though, talking about the state final on Friday, and semester exams, all on the short ride over to Joey’s.

“I think I want a Chicago dog,” Kurt announces as they climb out.

“I don’t have any idea what I want!” Casey says, shaking his head. “I mean, a hot dog is a hot dog, but they put so many different kinds of stuff on them, it makes it really complicated.”

“I like the hot ones,” Puck offers. “The Atomic, and the Texas. But the Coney Cheese one is good too.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I like the hots ones,” Casey answers. He follows Puck and Kurt inside, looking at the menu for one that might have something sweet on it. “Maybe the Chow Dog or the Skeeter?” He laughs at the second name, because it’s kind of silly and doesn’t really have anything to do with what actually seems to be in or on the dog. “The Chow might be too hot, though.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t get the Atomic today,” Kurt says to Puck, raising one eyebrow, and Puck just grins.

Casey watches their interactions, how they seem to say so much to each other without using many words at all, and it just looks so _comfortable_. It’s sad, that they can’t just be like that all the time, with everybody. Casey understands it, he really does, and he’s the last one to ever suggest they should do anything different. Looking at them, though, he just wishes the world worked a little better.

“Fine, fine,” Puck says he steps up to the counter. “One Chicago dog, one Texas dog, and–” he turns to Casey. “You decide on the Skeeter?” Casey nods. “And one Skeeter. Three drinks.” Kurt hands over the stamp card and then some cash, handing the coins he gets in return to Puck, who slides them in his pocket. Puck turns and hands Casey one of the cups. “This is one of the few places in town that has Mountain Dew, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” Casey says, accepting his cup. “I do like Mountain Dew. It’s like three times sweeter than all the other pop.”

After they get their drinks, they all sit down and wait for their food, Puck and Kurt on one side of the table, Casey on the other.

“So, have you gotten lots of questions for PFLAG, do you think?” Casey asks Kurt.

“I think there’s at least six or seven, so far,” Kurt nods. “Of course, I’m sure there is at least one joke in there, just because.”

“Do you think it’s all, um,” Casey lowers his voice and looks around the seating area. “You know.” He raises his eyebrows and bobbles his head to the side a little, trying to indicate that ‘you know’ means ‘sex stuff’ without having to actually say it out loud. He probably asked enough direct questions about that after Kurt’s sex talk, and he doesn’t want to give them the wrong idea about, well, what Casey’s engaging in.

Puck laughs. “Probably at least half. The rest is the straight guys wanting to watch Santana and Brittany make out.”

“Ew,” Casey grimaces. “Just, _why_? I mean, they’re really nice and everything, but, still.”

“I know,” Kurt giggles a little and shakes his head. “I don’t understand straight brains.”

“Santana’s a little scary,” Casey confesses. “I mean, she’s really great and she and David are _so funny_ when they talk, but I don’t think it’s very smart of the straight guys to ask about that stuff.” His eyes go wide. “Did you know she hides stuff? In her _hair_? I haven’t ever seen it, but David says it’s true.”

Puck chuckles. “Santana is definitely a little scary.”

“And she doesn’t really hide razors in her hair,” Kurt says with a shake of his head. “She just wants everyone to think she does.”

“No, I think she must,” Casey says. “David says she does.”

Puck and Kurt exchange another one of those looks that apparently says a lot in a short amount of time, and then they both shrug, practically in unison. “Santana can be very convincing,” Kurt finally says.

“She also never eats real food,” Casey adds, since he can’t make sense of what just went on between Kurt and Puck. “It’s all rice cakes and Diet Coke, and she and Brittany _share_ the rice cakes, even! Sometimes it’s weird eating lunch with cheerleaders.” He shakes his head. “I never thought that would be a problem that I had, though, so I guess I can’t complain about it!”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, Coach Sylvester’s pretty ridiculous, so they just don’t eat at school. Trust me, they eat fine the rest of the time. The only one that actually bitches is Qu–” Puck cuts himself off abruptly. “Anyway, yeah. You get the whole glee club together, we eat a lot of food.”

Casey studies Puck’s face, because he’s never been entirely certain that what David said about Puck and Quinn was true. Maybe, though, this is one more area where Davis is one hundred percent right. Since he usually is, Casey isn’t sure why he’s still so surprised, other than the whole story seems so weird and, he admits, a little gross.

“Well,” Casey says, trying to pick up the conversation. “You’d never know it from watching Brittany or Santana at school, but they don’t look like they’re starving or anything, so I guess they have to eat somewhere. Brittany always tries to eat David’s Jell-O, when they have Jell-O. Sometimes he lets her, but sometimes he gives it to me, when it’s the red flavor. David doesn’t like Jell-O.”

“Brittany loves Jell-O,” Kurt agrees. “Also flavored lip gloss.” Puck snickers but doesn’t say anything.

A long-ish haired guy brings their food over, nodding at Puck as he sets the three dogs down. Puck returns the nod shortly but turns his attention to his food pretty quickly, like he knows the guy but doesn’t particularly want to talk to him.

“Who was that?” Kurt muses. “He looks vaguely familiar.”

“He graduated two years ago, played right guard before Karofsky, remember?” Puck shakes his head. “He was one of the ones who _really_ didn’t want to dance.”

“They danced your sophomore year, too?” Casey asks.

“ _On_ the field,” Puck grins. “During the game.”

“If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it,” Kurt says calmly, with a smug smile.

“ _Seriously_?” Casey’s eyes widen. “Oh, wow, it’s too bad that David wasn’t on the team that year! That would have been so funny! I mean, not that I was here to see it or anything, but I could watch a video. Oh! Is there a video? Puck, did you dance, too?”

“He did,” Kurt answers for him. “Quite well, actually. After that was when he and Mike and Matt joined glee club, actually.” He pauses. “Does that make me the responsible party?”

“Or the one to blame?” Puck quips. “Don’t forget, _you_ were out there dancing too.”

“We should show it in PFLAG next week!” Casey says, before taking a huge bite of his dog. “The video,” he mumbles through his mouthful.

“I think I’ll pass,” Kurt says wryly, taking a bite of his own and shaking his head.

“Dancing football players are _great_ ,” Casey sighs. “It’s the funniest thing. I was at the zombie game my freshman year! My whole history class went for extra credit.”

“Well, I guess you were watching history?” Kurt offers dubiously. “I doubt anyone else will ever see Rachel Berry playing tackle football.”

“Tina was fierce, though.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Casey says, because honestly, he only thinks of the zombies when he thinks of that game. “There were girls out there. They weren’t very good, I don’t think, except for the really big one. Oh, hey, was that Lauren from the AV club who came to PFLAG? The one who’s the wrestler?”

“Yeah, that was Lauren,” Puck answers, a weird look on his face. “She was in glee club for part of the year last year.”

“She sings?” Casey shrugs. “I never would have guessed it.”

“Not, uh, that well,” Puck admits.

“Be nice,” Kurt grins. “She improved towards the end of the year. Who knew getting dumped would make her quit entirely?”

Casey looks from Kurt to Puck and back to Kurt. “Did she date Finn, too?”

Kurt and Puck both start laughing, almost hysterically, and Kurt shakes his head. “No,” he manages. “Finn had enough to handle between Prom Queen and Rachel.”

“That would be me,” Puck admits, raising his hand sheepishly.

Casey can’t help but stare, because that’s _two_ girls now that he knows about, and it’s just so hard to integrate that with the Puck that he’s sitting at the table with now. “Was it like Santana and David? Did she know?” Casey frowns at himself. “I’m sorry, that’s really intrusive. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“I think she _does_ know, actually,” Puck answers, looking thoughtful. “But, no, it was...” He looks at Kurt ruefully. “It’s easier when.”

Kurt nods. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Casey agrees, because he really does understand what Puck means. It’s easier when... a lot of things. “I’m sorry.”

They finish eating in relative silence and before Puck or Kurt can move, Casey grabs their trash and compiles it with his, carrying it to the trash can. They all refill their drinks and head back to Kurt’s Navigator.

“Thanks for lunch,” Casey says. “And for bringing me with you. It was really nice to not be in the library today.”

“No problem,” Puck assures him. “And I’m a fan of avoiding the library as much as possible.”

“You didn’t set foot in it for the first two years you were at McKinley.”

“Details.”

Casey giggles. “It must be nice to just be able to get in a car and _go_ whenever you need to,” he says, sighing a little. “To lunch or, I don’t know, just anywhere. Away.”

“It is,” Kurt agrees. “I think I spent more time in here than in my room this time last year.”

“I’d like to spend more time anywhere than my room,” Casey hears himself muttering, then shakes his head. “I can’t even drive until at least March, though, and then after that. I mean, I don’t know when it’ll happen. It’s a nice dream, though. Being able to just drive away.”

“You’re taking drivers’ ed next semester?” Kurt asks.

“Don’t know if there’s much point,” Casey shrugs, “but David thinks I should, so I am. He says that it’s the kind of stuff everybody needs to know even if you think you aren’t going to need it right away. Or something like that,” he finishes a little sheepishly, realizing he might be quoting David a little too much, judging by the amused look on Puck’s face.

“Good,” Kurt says firmly. “Make sure you know how to check the oil and change a tire, too.”

“Yeah, otherwise you’re in danger of a Hummel forcing you to learn right then and there.”

“Uh oh! Well, I’m glad I’m taking it, then!” Casey laughs. “Those drive-by Hummelings, I hear they’re pretty terrifying.”

“That depends on which Hummel,” Puck responds with a grin.

“Which one is the more terrifying one?” Casey asks.

“Burt.”

“Me.” There’s a pause and then Kurt continues. “Hey!”

“Well, I’ll just watch out for both of them,” Casey says. “Or I will just take the Driver’s Ed course and learn all that stuff.”

Kurt pulls into the parking lot at McKinley. Casey sees Puck and Kurt exchanging another look, and he thinks it means he should probably give them a little privacy, so he gathers up his backpack.

“Thanks again, guys. Just, really. Thank you,” Casey says to them, before shutting the door behind himself. Puck doesn’t follow him, and Casey figures he was probably right with his guess. He smiles to himself as he heads in towards his class, because it really is nice, seeing people happy and in love like that.


	3. 3x16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made, planning is done, and January keeps plodding along. Also, doughnuts.

Kurt frowns at the screen and rubs at his forehead. Since he was already awake when his dad said there wasn’t enough work at the shop this Sunday morning, he’d decided to stay awake and do some research online.

He regrets that decision at the moment.

He smiles a little, thinking of the day before; even though it involved studying for semester exams before he and Puck went to the center and spent the afternoon. They managed to fall asleep at a decent time, amazingly, and Kurt feels like maybe, they’ll manage.

But the computer isn’t yielding the information that he’s looking for, and he goes to the thesaurus in frustration.

Oh. _Oh._

Kurt’s fingers fly over the keyboard now, and he clicks on several links, scanning the information rapidly. It all falls into place with each additional piece of knowledge, and when Kurt pushes away from the laptop an hour later, he has a name, a label; something to investigate more thoroughly. It’s not necessarily what he would have hoped, but all the pieces fit.

Kurt walks slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen, surveying the contents of the refrigerator in a somewhat detached manner. He jumps when Carole speaks from behind him.

“Kurt? Everything okay?”

“Oh!” He wheels in place. “Yes, fine. Sorry. I just...” He trails off and waves his hand dismissively. “Just thinking.”

“Anything important?” Carole asks with a smile.

Kurt opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. It would be easy, so easy, to let everything he’s observed and cataloged and now researched spill out, giving the knowledge–and the burden–to Carole, to an _adult_. And then he closes his jaw with a click, smiles, and shakes his head. “No, no, just teenage things,” he lies, and Carole doesn’t even pause before accepting his reassurances.

This isn’t something to share. Kurt fixes himself some oatmeal on autopilot, eating a yogurt while it cooks. In fact, Puck may not even be happy with what _Kurt’s_ researched, but it’s certainly not anyone else’s business. Kurt absently wraps his tongue around his spoon. Carole’s an adult, yes, but Kurt’s been arguing for being treated as an adult for months.

Kurt deposits the spoon on the counter, tossed out the empty yogurt container, and serves himself the now-cooked oatmeal. This is going to be just between he and Puck. It has to be.

 

Puck grins when his phone buzzes fifteen minutes before two, and his grin grows wider when he gets a chance to read the message.

 _Finn dropping me off in 10 xx_

Not that it was that far to go pick Kurt up, but if they got an extra five or ten minutes, Puck was all for it. Kurt walks in the door just as Puck escapes from behind the counter, and Puck can’t help but smile and pull Kurt into a brief hug. “Hi,” Kurt says quietly as they separate.

“Hey.” Puck squeezes Kurt’s hand. “Good morning?”

“Pretty good,” Kurt nods. “Dad didn’t need me at the shop. Ready?”

“Definitely.”

“We’re going to have to be more careful,” Kurt mutters, gnawing on his bottom lip. “We got spoiled, over the break.”

“I know,” Puck admits with a sigh. “I keep telling myself, just a little longer and then...”

“Yeah.”

“Though you letting me drive the Nav so much is probably a huge risk on its own,” Puck adds, grinning a little.

“They’ll just think I’ve been replaced by a pod person,” Kurt counters.

“Maybe.”

“I looked up that Bo Diddley thing,” Kurt changes the subject abruptly. “What about ‘Desire’?”

“The U2 song?”

“Yeah. Finn thought it was a good idea.”

“Yeah, that works. We can run through it tonight before everyone else shows.”

“Yes.” Kurt smirks a little impishly as they head up the stairs to the apartment. “I think we should pick something fabulously heteronormative for our duet.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, that’s going to be hilarious. Half of them in the dark, the other half of us knowing what’s going on, and Schue sitting there–”

“–looking poleaxed.”

“Exactly.”

“God, it’s so nice of your mother to give us these couple of hours,” Kurt exhales as they step into the apartment and they slide out of their shoes. He turns to Puck and kisses him urgently, almost harshly, as soon as the door is locked, and all Puck can do is return the kiss and run his hands through Kurt’s hair.

They maneuver into Puck’s room, lips not separating, and then Kurt’s stripping Puck, his clothes tossed to the side. Kurt sinks down to his knees and takes Puck into his mouth in one motion, leaving Puck to cry out and tangle his fingers through Kurt’s hair.

Kurt hollows his cheeks around Puck and lifts his eyes, locking his gaze with Puck’s as he moves exquisitely slowly up and down Puck’s length. “Fuck, blue eyes,” Puck groans, his tongue moistening his lips. Kurt hums in response, the sensation shooting along Kurt’s tongue and over Puck’s cock.

Kurt pulls back, keeping just the very tip of Puck’s erection in his mouth, and he laves at it with his tongue while one hand caresses Puck’s balls, his touch light and almost ticklish. Puck can feel his breathing grow shallower and his hips twitch.

Kurt’s mouth is warm and wet, and his gaze intent, still focused on Puck’s face as Puck looks down at him. It’s so _pretty_ , Puck’s cock resting in Kurt’s mouth, and if Puck lets his eyes drift further down, he can trace the obvious bulge in Kurt’s pants. Kurt slides back down Puck’s shaft, and Puck whimpers when he feels the tip reach the back of Kurt’s mouth. Then he jerks his eyes back up to Kurt’s, jaw dropping. “Oh holy _fuck_ , Kurt!” explodes out of his mouth before he can think about it, Kurt’s lips continuing to get closer to the base until his nose is nestled in the dark curls and Puck’s staring down, amazed, all of his cock housed inside Kurt’s mouth and throat. “Oh fuck K, not going to...”

Puck’s hands tighten in Kurt’s hair, and just as he tried to say, he doesn’t last long as Kurt slides back and takes all of him again a second, third, fourth time. The fifth time, Puck comes hard, body shuddering, and he puts one arm out to steady himself against the wall. Kurt lets Puck’s cock drop out of his mouth with a faint pop, and then Kurt’s standing again, propelling them the rest of the way to Puck’s bed, and they fall back onto it as Kurt’s lips connect with Puck’s.

Kurt swipes his tongue across Puck’s lips and into Puck’s mouth, and Puck opens his mouth wider. His hands rest on Kurt’s ass, squeezing gently, and Kurt pushes back into the touch. Kurt breaks the kiss and turns his attention to Puck’s shoulder, nipping and sucking. “Kurt, damn. You’re, uh. Still dressed.”

“Fuck,” Kurt hisses, pulling back and whipping his sweater off, then climbing off Puck for a moment to shed the lower half of his clothing. Puck takes advantage of the change in position to push Kurt onto his back, and he slowly licks up the length of Kurt’s cock. “Oh, god, Puck. Please.”

Puck pulls back and grins. “Please what, blue eyes?”

“Suck me off.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.” Puck repeats the same action as before, then closes his lips around the head of Kurt’s cock. Puck closes his eyes and runs his tongue along the slit, lapping at the fluid slowly leaking out and savoring it. Kurt’s hips buck underneath him and Puck puts one hand around the base of Kurt’s cock, stroking slowly.

“Yes, just, just like that,” Kurt whimpers, and Puck runs his tongue around Kurt’s erection before returning to the tip. He squeezes his hand a little, brings his other hand up to Kurt’s balls, and lets one finger dip behind them, teasing at the soft skin. “Puck, yes. Oh, Puck, baby.”

Puck moves a little faster, both hands and his mouth focused on Kurt, until Kurt spills into him with a shout, and he swallows each drop before slowly kissing his way back up Kurt’s chest. He vaguely remembers that Kurt was wearing a v-neck and smirks as he sucks a small but dark spot where Kurt will have to change before the evening. Kurt doesn’t protest, though, just huffs slightly and then tilts his head out of the way. Puck ends with his mouth on Kurt’s ear, whispering softly into it, and then Kurt twists, pressing his lips to Puck’s.

They end up with Puck’s head on Kurt’s shoulder, arms wrapped around each other. “So what outstandingly heteronormative song could we do?” Puck murmurs, his fingers absently tracing down Kurt’s side.

Kurt giggles. “Stop, that tickles. Almost any duet is going to be at least somewhat heteronormative, with the exception of ‘I’ll Cover You,’” he continues.

“There’s always ‘Paradise By the Dashboard Light,’” Puck grins. “We should sing that for Finn at least sometime.”

“Hmm. ‘Endless Love’ and ‘Unforgettable’ just really aren’t what we’re going for, I don’t think.”

“There’s always the cheese factor, like something from ‘Grease.’”

Kurt giggles again. “The note that John Travolta tries to hit at the end of ‘Summer Nights,’ it’s just.” He pauses. “I know!”

“What?”

“And because of their voices, we can totally mess with their heads and you can do the female part.”

“Uh, what?”

“‘I Got You Babe.’ Sonny’s part is actually higher than Cher’s.”

Puck starts chuckling. “Oh, man. Can you see their faces?”

“Yes, yes I can,” Kurt says with satisfaction. “It’ll be superb.”

 

Puck sprawls across Burt’s recliner with the Fender in his hands; what Burt doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? Kurt leans against the front of the recliner, resting his head on Puck’s outer thigh. “Comfy?”

“I am,” Puck confirms. “You?”

“Mmmhmm.” The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts whatever else Kurt was going to say, and a moment later, Finn appears in the doorway.

“Hey guys, what are you–holy _crap_ that’s a sweet guitar!”

“I know.” Puck grins. “No touch-y the Fender.”

“Did you name it yet, dude?”

“‘The Fender’ isn’t enough of a name?”

Finn looks momentarily puzzled. “Well, I mean, what if someone else has a Fender, too? What do you do then?”

“Then I guess I’ll call it _my_ Fender,” Puck replies slowly. “It’s not like I’m going to have a whole set of them.”

‘Oh, I guess that makes sense,” Finn says, nodding. “If I had one, I’d name it...Julie, I think. Guitars seem like they need girls’ names.”

“This is both fascinating and disturbing,” Kurt remarks, rolling his head farther back. “I’ve always thought of them as male.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Well, you would.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you probably wouldn’t want to put your hands all over a _girl_ , dude. I mean, come on, ‘hey, I’m gonna go strum on Julie for a while.’” Finn shakes his head. “I can’t even picture that coming out of your mouth.”

“Predominantly because I don’t name inanimate objects. Usually.”

“Or play the guitar, either, now that I come to think of it,” Finn adds.

“Another obstacle in your scenario, yes.”

“So are we going to go through the song, or was that just a ploy for me to bring the Fender over?”

“What?” Finn asks, tipping his head to the side in thought. “Oh, song, I guess.”

They run through the song twice, neither Puck nor Kurt bothering to move, and then Kurt decides they’re done. “Okay, we’re good.” He raises an eyebrow in Finn’s direction. “You and Rachel chosen a song for your duet yet? I’m sure she wants to win whatever the prize may be.”

“Yeah, we’re doing ‘Jackson,’” Finn says. “Her idea. I know Johnny Cash is more your style than mine, but she went off on some thing about how June and Johnny had this whole complicated back story and all these things that kept them apart and look at how they ended up. I don’t know what her point was, so I think I kind of tuned her out.”

“Watch my copy of _Walk the Line_ ,” Kurt says with a little sigh. “It’ll make more sense then.”

“Wait, that’s a documentary? I thought it had that girl from that other movie, the one with all the pink that you told me they made into a musical.” Finn cocks his head to the side. “Huh. Who knew?”

“It does. It’s a bio pic, not a documentary.”

“Oh. So there’s a sequel?”

“No, they didn’t resurrect Johnny Cash,” Puck snorts.

“Well, Puck and I have decided on a wonderful selection.” Kurt tilts his head and winks where Finn can’t see it.

“Oh yeah? What are you guys doing?”

“We strongly considered ‘Summer Nights’ but ultimately settled on the contemporary classic of ‘Endless Love.’” Kurt’s face is calm and straight, as if that is, indeed, what they chose.

Finn makes a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh. “Tell me you’re messing with me, dude.”

“He is. We’re actually doing ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light.’”

“Wait, that really, really long Meatloaf song?” Finn sighs. “Are the rest of us even gonna have time to sing?”

“You don’t think everyone will enjoy Puck asking if I’ll love him forever and make him my wife?”

“I can’t speak for _everyone_ ,” Finn says, “but I think it would be hilarious. You just go right on and do that. I’ll record it and put it on Facebook. Hell, maybe I’ll even tag you-know-who for kicks.”

Kurt giggles. “Yeah, maybe we’ll do that sometime.”

“But not for the whole club,” Puck finishes, smirking.

Finn just stares at them, occasionally blinking. “Yeah, so I’m not tracking on what’s going on here.”

“We’re not doing that one either,” Puck says, then plucks out the first bars of ‘I Got You Babe’ on the Fender.

Finn cocks his head a little and narrows his eyes, like he’s mentally searching for the name of the song. “Is it the one with the chick with the pants with no butt?”

“I’m rather horrified by how you recall things.” Kurt stares at Finn, and his head shakes slightly back and forth.

“Hey, I recall all the important features. Like, if I couldn’t remember your name, you’d be that guy with the really excited hair,” Finn says, reaching over to gentle pat Kurt’s head.

“Excited?” Kurt repeats faintly. “You know what, I don’t think I want to know.”

“Just, it’s all _whee_!” Finn explains, making a swooping gesture up from the top of his own head. “See? _Whee!_ Excited hair.”

“At least he doesn’t call you bald,” Puck points out ruefully.

“There is that,” Kurt nods.

Finn starts to respond, but is interrupted by the ringing doorbell, so instead he gets up and answers it. “Oh, hey Artie.”

Kurt stifles back a groan as he sits up, and Puck shifts a little in the recliner as well as Artie answers.

“Hey,” Artie responds, sounding glum. He rolls into the living room, looking dejected. “Are we all that’s here yet?”

“You, me, and Julio, down by the schoolyard,” Puck replies with a nod.

Artie sighs and rolls his chair back and forth a little. “How’s your day going?”

“Pretty good.” Puck shrugs a little and nods. “Yours must not be.”

“Not so much,” Artie says. “Why do I only seem to attract girls who would rather be getting it on with someone else?’

“Mindy?” Kurt interjects, surprise in his tone. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Artie sighs again. “She’s been hooking up with some guy with a robotic claw arm. Says he has better hardware than me. I’m crushed. She was _so_ hot.”

“Aw, dude,” Finn offers, patting Artie on the back. “That sucks so hard.”

“Harsh, man,” Puck agrees. “Well, now you’re free to pick you up a hottie in SoCal, right?”

“I guess so. Maybe I should just give up women all together,” Artie says, mournfully. “Think that’d work out?”

Kurt giggles. “Not unless you have an appreciation for the male form. Plus, it’d make my brother feel like he was tripping over the gays.”

“I see gay people,” Finn deadpans.

Puck guffaws and Kurt keeps giggling, and it’s probably a good thing that the doorbell rings again at that moment. Finn casts a glance at Kurt, like maybe he’s hoping Kurt will get up and answer it this time. Kurt doesn’t even look in Finn’s direction, probably on purpose, and that makes Puck laugh even harder. Finn stands with a dramatic sigh in Kurt’s direction and plods back to the door.

“Hudson. You know, I think you need a doorman’s outfit.” Santana’s smirking when she steps into the living room.

“Yeah, well, I’ll get right on that,” is all Finn says in response.

“Who stole your pony, Abrams?” she ignores Finn and addresses Artie.

“Robot claw hand guy,” Finn says, before Artie can answer.

“Right, okay,” Santana nods slowly, then shrugs and sits on the couch.

“I’m sorry about the robot,” Brittany says, leaning over and giving Artie a chaste hug. “I know how much you hate those guys ever since they blew up the Colonies.”

Kurt turns his head up towards Puck and mouths ‘the Colonies?’ Puck just shrugs and strums a couple of chords. The doorbell rings again, coupled with a persistent knocking, and Finn rolls his eyes as he gets up again to answer it.

“I’m just gonna stand here,” he complains, opening the door to find Mike, Tina, Sam, and Mercedes.

“Finally!” Mercedes says with a shiver, stepping inside.

The four of them proceed into the living room until Sam stops short. “Dude!”

“Hey, keep moving,” Mike complains from behind him.

“No, really.” Sam grins. “Is that a Fender, Puck?”

“Yep.” Puck grins. “Sweet, huh?”

“Oh wow,” Artie breathes, Mindy forgotten. “That’s beautiful.”

“Where’d you get it?” Sam asks.

“Hanukkah present.”

“From _who_? Moses?” Artie asks. “Fenders aren’t cheap!”

“Uh.” Puck hadn’t actually thought about the answer to that question. “Hanukkah Armadillo.”

“He always shells out the good stuff,” Finn quips, looking pleased with himself.

The doorbell rings another time, which means that it’s Rachel, by process of elimination. This time, Finn answers the door with more enthusiasm and there’s a pause for hello kissing before Rachel joins in on the Hanukkah conversation. “What did Finn mean about Puck’s guitar and the Hanukkah Armadillo?”

“The Armadillo brings Fenders,” Kurt says, one eyebrow raised, and Rachel nods slowly.

“Right. Okay.” She shrugs and smiles brightly.

“Five golden rings!” Finn pipes up. “Armadillos have rings, so you could totally make a song for that.” He starts singing, “On the fifth day of Hanukkah, the armadillo gave to me...”

“Really, there are better parody songs for Hanukkah out there,” Kurt points out.

“Yeah, aren’t we supposed to be doing something specific?” Puck asks. “I dunno. I feel like we all came here for some reason.”

“Oh, right!” Finn shakes himself a little as he snaps back into reality. “So, I think Mike had some more choreography he wanted to run through, so let’s get this furniture moved.”

They all stand, some more reluctantly than others, and shift the furniture out of the way. Puck ends up cradling the Fender protectively more than actually moving anything. When everything is to the sides of the room, Mike grins at them. “Now, we won’t finalize this until after we settle on all the solos, I think, but the basic idea is finished.”

They go through the choreography four or five times before Finn calls for a break for drinks and snacks. Soon, they’re all eating Rice Krispies treats made with the pastel marshmallows, drinking pop, and discussing their upcoming semester exams.

“If I fail everything, do you think they’ll still let me play football in college?” Finn asks. “I mean, I have a whole other semester, right, so they won’t count me off for one bad one.”

“I don’t think you’re in danger of failing. Honestly, Finn. But if you do, please warn me so I can avoid the house for a few hours.”

“Will do, bro.”

“Some of us don’t even have to show at McKinley on Friday,” Tina grins.

“Time to sleep in,” Puck nods.

“Lucky bastards,” Artie groans. “Everything sucks right now.”

“Why does it suck?” Rachel asks, and Puck is reminded that Rachel got there last.

“A robot ate his girlfriend,” Brittany explains. “He’s upset.”

“A robot ate Mindy?” Rachel looks utterly confused.

“I suppose that’s possible, too,” Artie mutters. “I didn’t exactly get all the details, just the big picture.”

“Mindy, um,” Finn says. “There’s a guy with a robotic claw arm, apparently.”

“Oh, no! Artie, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Rachel reaches across Finn to pat Artie’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t the best thing in the world to hear,” Artie says.

“Like Puck said. Southern California. I really think that is the better option, Artie,” Kurt points out.

“Better option? What’s the other option?”

“Artie suggested giving up on women altogether,” Puck answers Mercedes with a solemn nod.

Sam snorts out a laugh. “Sure thing, man. You and Puck can both go gay and hook up, since you’re both lacking a lady at the moment.”

“Dude,” Finn snaps. “You don’t ‘go gay.’ God, don’t you even pay attention in PFLAG. Insensitive.” He makes his grumpy face.

Finn’s outburst gives Puck a second to school his face. “Sorry, Artie,” he says, straight-faced. “You just aren’t my type.”

“I’m wounded,” Artie says, placing his hand over his heart. “Really. Just, that hurts, dude.”

Puck shrugs. “I know, man. The heart wants what the heart wants, though. Just gotta roll with it.”

“Man, if Artie’s not good enough for you, who would be?” Sam asks with a big grin.

Puck’s eyes widen just a little, wondering when this turned into the time to interrogate Puck.

“Me,” Brittany says suddenly, coming over to Puck and draping herself across him. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you said we weren’t telling anyone.” She whispers, “You are NOT doing very good at the game today, Puck,” into his ear. “Back off, you whore!” she shrieks at Sam.

Puck is pretty sure he looks traumatized instead of anything approaching turned on.

Finn starts making a noise. It’s not his choking noise, but a weird high-pitched wheeze through his nose that turns into a sputtering laugh. “I’m sorry, dude. I just. I can’t.”

“Yeah, me neither. Sorry Puck,” Britt says, sliding out of his lap. “You just don’t fit into my feminist paradigm. I’m leaving you for Santana.”

“I’m heartbroken,” Puck grins at her. “But healthier than I would be if you’d kept that up.” He turns and winks at Finn. “Everyone knows Finn’s really my type.”

“That’s right. We’re moving to New York and getting married and hiring Kurt to be our nanny,” Finn says. “We’re adopting.”

Rachel and Kurt are clutching each other, laughing hysterically.

“Now come ‘ere and give me a big kiss, sugarpants,” Finn says, flinging himself at Puck. “I can’t liiiive, if living is without youuuuuu!” He can’t keep up the charade and falls onto the floor, shaking with laughter. “Ok you guys,” he gasps from the floor. “We should practice some more. You know, so I don’t have to pine away for Puck and our amazing bromance.”

“Would that be Pinn or Fuck?” Mike muses, grinning widely.

“Obviously it’s Hudserman,” Finn says. “Geez. _Dancing_ , people. Come on, _I_ shouldn’t be the one all excited about dancing.”

“Do we have to?” Mercedes asks, making a face. “I feel like I’ve sweated buckets, and it’s _January_.”

“Yeah, you have to,” Finn insists. “It’s rehearsal. Everybody dances, everybody sweats.”

“Fine,” she sighs, and they all head back into the living room for additional run-throughs.

After the run-throughs, Finn says, “Great work, everybody. I was thinking we’d start working on the solos and arrangements on Tuesday and Thursday. Sound good to everyone? Less sweating involved,” he adds, looking at Mercedes. There are nods all around, and people start to filter out, Puck hanging back until the rest of them leave.

“I think we finally reset our clocks,” Kurt murmurs, walking down the hall with him.

“Yeah.” The door closes for the final time and Puck initiates a slow kiss that turns deeper after a moment. “I’ll see you in the morning, blue eyes.”

“Count on it.” Kurt grins. “Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

 

As hard as hiding is, and increasingly becoming moreso, Puck acknowledges that some things are going well. Driving to work in the morning is a huge boon, and he doesn't even mind that sometimes Carole deliberately walks with Kurt now, just to smile and wave before she heads to her office. So Monday already starts better than it could have, and they do review for semester exams in the first three periods of the day.

Rachel tucks her hand into the crook of Puck's elbow and heads down the hall with him, the two of them (and, to a larger extent, the four of them) having decided by unspoken acclaim that to hell with the rumors, they're going to act towards their friends the way they want to act. "I'm looking forward to seeing what numbers the remainder of the group has selected," Rachel says, "plus we have an update from the dance committee to give to the rest of you." She grins. "This is all so exciting, Noah. I knew senior year would be fun, but I didn't realize it would be this enjoyable. What about you?"

Puck creases his forehead, trying to figure out how to respond. It's not that there aren't good parts, but it's not the experience that everyone seems to be expecting him to have. "It's had its moments," he finally settles on, shrugging slightly. He reminds himself that she doesn't understand. It's not her fault; she just doesn't have any context.

Rachel plows on with whatever she's saying, not appearing to noticing his hesitation nor his less than enthusiastic support for her position, only stopping when they reach the choir room and she walks over to Finn as Puck grabs a chair. Kurt sits down beside him a moment later, smiling slightly.

"Back to work this afternoon?"

"Sadly, yes. Is 6:15 too late?"

Puck shakes his head. "Nah, should be fine. You know how long it doesn't take to get anywhere in Lima."

Kurt laughs. "That's true."

"Okay, we have four performances left today!" Schue sets down a stack of papers on top of the piano and claps his hands. "Artie, you want to lead us off?"

"Sure thing," Artie agrees, rolling to face them all before launching into a spirited rendition of "Cleveland Rocks."

 _Mama knows but she don't care  
She's got her worries too  
Seven kids and a phony affair  
And the rent is due  
All the little chicks with their crimson lips  
Go "Clevelands rocks!" "Cleveland rocks!"  
Livin' in sin with a safety pin_

"A nice home state nod," Schue grins at the end. "Great job." He looks over the room for a moment. "Sam, how about you go next?"

"All right," Sam agrees. "I went with The Animals for this."

 _There is a house in New Orleans  
They call the Rising Sun  
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy  
And God I know I'm one_

Puck tunes Sam out for a bit without meaning to, really, thinking about Sam and Finn and even Karofsky, and how they're waiting to hear about football scholarships and signing and all of that. From what Kurt's said, plus the way Finn doesn't really bring it up, Finn's got himself half-convinced that he's not going to get in anywhere, much less get a scholarship. He wonders if Sam's done the same thing to himself or if he's more hopeful.

 _And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy  
And God I know I'm one_

The end of the music catches him by surprise and he starts clapping when Kurt elbows him gently in the side. Mercedes pops up before Schue can say a word, nodding towards Brad before starting to sing.

 _He said he's going back to find  
Ooh, what's left of his world  
The world he left behind not so long ago_

 _He's leaving  
On that midnight train to Georgia, yeah  
Said he's going back   
To a simpler place and time, oh yes he is_

The performance is good, though, and Mercedes smiles sweetly at all the applause and praise as she takes her seat, Sam claiming her hand as she does so.

"Well, that leaves you, Finn," Schue grins.

“Uh, ok,” Finn says, standing up. “So, I kind of Googled around until I found something I like. You probably haven’t heard of these guys, but, I dunno. I liked it.”

The song begins with a little strumming guitar, just a very simple melody, and Finn sings.

 _I won't let you go  
I won't let you go  
Not to New York City  
Not to Chicago_

He seems to pointedly _not_ look at anyone while he sings, continuing through another verse about not letting someone leave, and chorus about taking them back for the last time and how they need to go to Mexico.

 _And I won't set you free  
I won't set you free  
Not to say "it's over"  
And come right back to me_

 _But if you're gonna go  
I'm giving you the key  
But only if you'll go  
to Mexico_

He repeats the chorus two more times and then finishes the song.

 _So if you're gonna go  
Baby won't you please  
Go all the way to Mexico  
All the way to Mexico_

Without looking at anyone, Finn walks back to his seat and slumps down into it.

“That was a powerful performance, Finn,” Schue says, uncharacteristically somber. When he stands to walk back to the front of the room, he rests a hand on Finn’s shoulder in a gesture that is no doubt intended to be supportive, but just comes off as kind of creepy. Rachel is studiously examining the papers stacked on her lap, seemingly counting them.

“So, I think some of you had some information for us, about the dance?”

Quinn stands up. “We’ve purchased all the decorations, the lace and the bubbles, and we’ve come up with a poster design to advertise.”

“And we think we’ve come to a good solution regarding the music. Rather than performing new songs, we’re working our way through a list of songs that everyone has already performed, and we’ll be compiling a roster. That way, minimal rehearsal should be required.” Rachel turns to smile at everyone. “If you have a particular song you’d like to sing or that you’d like someone else to reprise, make sure and let us know this week.”

“Also, we’d like to remind everyone to please wear your outfits from Sectionals,” Artie adds.

“Great!” Schue nods at all three of them that have spoken. “Anything else?”

Santana shakes her head. “Just remember, guys. The ‘Bad Romance’ Dance is being put on by ‘an approved student organization.’ We’ll let ‘em know it’s us _after_ we get their money.”

Schue laughs as the bell rings, but most of them don’t laugh; Santana’s just speaking the truth.

 

Puck knows something’s up as soon as he climbs into the Nav on Tuesday afternoon. Kurt’s uncharacteristically fidgety, for starters, and when he reaches across the console to take Puck’s hand, he squeezes tight and then holds it.

“You okay, blue eyes?”

Kurt nods. “Yeah. I just.” He exhales. “I’ve been doing some research.” He stops himself, shaking his head. “No, we’ll wait until we’re home.”

“Okay.” Puck frowns a little but doesn’t push the issue; clearly Kurt’s nervous or upset or something, but not _with Puck_ , so he’ll wait it out.

When they reach Kurt’s room, Kurt kisses Puck slowly, deeply, undressing him and then undressing himself, but not hurriedly. Kurt slides under the covers and pulls Puck with him, wrapping his arms around Puck’s shoulders and urging Puck’s head onto his chest. Puck doesn’t really have an issue with any of this: skin, his awesomely hot boyfriend, more skin, more Kurt.

“I haven’t talked about this with anyone else,” Kurt begins, and Puck knits his eyebrows together, confused. “I just, it’s not anybody’s business. Not really mine, I guess, but.” He grows quiet and Puck frowns.

“Kurt?” Puck hates how unsure he sounds.

“I love you,” Kurt answers quietly. “So much. Okay? And I just. This is going to come out all wrong, I know it. I just observed things and they didn’t all add up–or I guess you could say they did, but not the way you’d want them to, right? And um.” Puck doesn’t look at Kurt, but he’s pretty sure Kurt’s biting his lip. “Ithinkyouhaveananxietydisorder.”

“What?”

“I think. Um.” Kurt takes a deep breath, making Puck’s head rise and then sink. “That you have an anxiety disorder.”

“A what?” It comes out a little harsher than Puck intends, and he winces as Kurt’s arms loosen and Kurt draws away slightly.

“Anxiety,” Kurt says more quietly. “It... the puking, baby, and what happened at Sectionals, and some other things, it all fits the profile.”

“A _disorder_? Like, something’s wrong with me? Broken?”

“No, baby, no,” the words rush out of Kurt’s mouth. “No, god, you’re not broken. God.” Kurt’s arms tighten around him again, and Kurt’s cheek rests on the top of his head. “Puck. No. Dammit.”

Puck curls in on himself, except he’s still wrapped around Kurt, so he just ends up smushing himself against Kurt. It’s not exactly a bad thing, but he feels exposed, somehow. “Then what?” He cringes at the edge of anger still in his voice. “Fuck,” he adds with a sigh.

“All a disorder technically means is that at time the feelings and symptoms can disrupt your life.”

Puck can’t help but snort out a laugh. “You memorized that, didn’t you?”

“... Maybe.” Kurt presses a kiss to the top of Puck’s head. “Puck, you know I just... I just want you. Happy. Healthy.”

“I know,” Puck admits, voice small. He knows what Kurt means, but it doesn’t mean he wants to think of himself as having some kind of disorder. “But fuck, K. Why me? Why can’t I be healthy without some kind of _help_ or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt answers very softly. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why does it all have to be so fucking hard?” The words just explode out of his mouth, and for the first time in almost two years, Puck can feel tears pricking at his eyes. “Dammit.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Kurt repeats, “but I wish I did.” Kurt’s hand comes up under Puck’s chin, tilting Puck’s face towards him, and Kurt kisses him softly. “But, Puck. I don’t care if you have fourteen different disorders. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Puck buries his face in Kurt’s neck. “What... what do I need to do?”

Kurt runs his hands softly over Puck’s scalp. “How about, I send you a few links, and you read them. And then we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.” Puck exhales heavily. “Okay.”

Puck can feel Kurt’s lips rest against his skin, then curve into a brief smile. “We’ll make it.”

“Can we start a countdown? However many days left?”

Kurt giggles, and the sound makes something in Puck start to relax again. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to get us home.”

“We should start, you know. Planning and stuff. Not a lot, because that’d make it worse, but.”

“I know what you mean.” Kurt’s chin nods against Puck’s head. “Just a little.”

“We should make sure to get lots of blankets. In lieu of, you know.”

“Pajamas?” Kurt finishes teasingly.

“Exactly.” Puck ducks his head down just enough to run his tongue over Kurt’s nipple, making it stand out a little, and Kurt shivers. “Cold, blue eyes?”

“No. Not at all.” Kurt’s arms stiffen around Puck and he shifts them until Puck is more or less on top of them. “I have you to keep me warm, after all.”

“Oh, is that all I am?” Puck looks up and grins slightly. “A bedwarmer?”

“A very sexy bedwarmer,” Kurt says in what Puck is sure is meant to be a reassuring voice, but then he dissolves into giggles, which sort of ruins it.

“Meanie.” Puck pouts exaggeratedly.

“Mmm.” Kurt runs his hands down Puck’s back and squeezes his ass gently. “God, baby.”

“Whatcha want, blue eyes?” Puck whispers, running his tongue along the outside of Kurt’s ear.

“Want you, inside me,” Kurt replies softly. “Need to feel you.”

Puck smiles, nipping at Kurt’s earlobe. “Kurt,” he murmurs. “Make you feel so good.”

“You always do, baby.”

Puck fumbles with the bedside table drawer for a moment before retrieving the bottle of lube, and his lips find Kurt’s as he slicks up a finger and pushes it slowly inside Kurt, his thumb lingering just behind Kurt’s balls. Kurt makes a funny little encouraging noise, and Puck moves his finger slowly, brushing against Kurt before withdrawing his finger and then adding a second one, plunging them in and out of Kurt with exaggerated slowness. “Like that?” he whispers after a moment, and Kurt merely nods, eyes mostly closed.

A third finger, careful attention to Kurt’s prostate, and Puck coats himself before rolling Kurt onto his side and positioning himself behind Kurt, sliding slowly into Kurt until his balls are brushing Kurt’s. Puck reaches between them and carefully cups them all in his hand, and Kurt hisses, wiggling back against Puck.

“God, Puck. Move?” he whines.

Puck shakes his head slowly. “Perfect. Tight and slick and oh, fuck, Kurt so warm and so, so good.” He slides his hand up to grasp Kurt’s cock and pumps it twice before tightening his grip.

“Please.” Kurt rolls his hips back, as if he’s trying to find more of Puck to take inside him. “I need you to move, baby. Please.”

Puck starts moving then, slow strokes that are almost painful, his hand on Kurt’s cock moving at a similar pace. He brushes his lips on Kurt’s neck and then nips at one spot, sucking a little until the pale skin is marred, and then he kisses the spot softly. Kurt’s moving with him, still pushing back into Puck’s thrusts, and Puck’s lower arm is tangled underneath Kurt and holding Kurt’s hand. “K, K, so beautiful, so good,” Puck can’t help but chant as they move together.

“Yesss,” Kurt nods. “More, please, more just. More.” Puck increases his speed, his hand rapidly moving along Kurt’s shaft, and Kurt tightens around him with each inward thrust. Puck’s lips find themselves back on the same spot on Kurt’s neck as his thrusts grow erratic, and he comes with a little shout, spilling into Kurt. He keeps his hand moving, and Kurt hums and then comes as well, coating Puck’s hand and the sheets around them.

Puck stays inside Kurt as long as he can, then slips out carefully and brings his arm over Kurt. “Good, K?”

“Mmm. Very.” Kurt curls his arm around Puck’s and shifts in place, clearly getting more comfortable. “Think this counts as physics studying?”

“Probably not,” Puck chuckles. “But it’s more enjoyable.”

“Yes. Much more so,” Kurt agrees. “Set an alarm?”

“Yeah.” Puck leans over and sets the alarm on his phone, then pulls the blankets a little higher over them.

“Studying when we wake up,” Kurt concludes, sighing slightly.

“Stupid school.”

“Exactly.”

 

Puck’s Wednesday goes exactly about how he expects. Two exams, math, and a theory lesson–where the guy isn’t quite as pissy–followed by dropping Kurt at the shop and heading on towards work himself.

“You’re off school on Monday, right?” his manager asks soon after he gets there.

“What? Oh, yeah, Martin Luther King Day.”

“Do you want to work a full eight hour shift on Monday, then? One of my morning people wants the day off, her kids’ preschool is doing an all-day community service activity or something.”

Puck shrugs. “Let me check with Kurt real quick?”

She suppresses a smile and nods, and Puck pulls out his phone.

“What’s up?” Kurt sounds a little breathless.

“Ms. Horatio wants to know if I want to work a full shift on Monday. I wasn’t sure if you were working your normal Monday hours or not.”

“No, Dad asked me about, oh, fifteen minutes ago, if I could work the morning instead.” Puck can practically hear the grin on Kurt’s face. “He said until noon or one, but if you’re working, I can just work until 2 or 2:30, that shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Okay, cool.” Puck pauses. “Anything interesting?”

“Ooh, a manual transmission on a Pontiac Sunfire needs an overhaul.”

“Awesome. You lost me at Pontiac.”

Kurt laughs. “It’s not as cool as the engine rebuild, but still kind of fun. I’ll talk to you after you get off work?”

“You bet. Be good, K.”

“I’m always good!” Puck ends the call and nods at Ms. Horatio. “Yeah, Monday’s fine.”

She laughs for a moment, nodding, and Puck just looks at her, puzzled. “You, calling your boyfriend to check.”

“Well, if he was going to be working all afternoon...” Puck furrows his forehead.

“No, no, it makes sense.” She shakes her head. “It’s just very sweet, the two of you.” She pulls off her apron. “Well, I’m off the clock at last. I’ll let Meghan know about Monday. Thanks, Noah.”

“No problem.”

Puck flops onto his bed, mostly naked, then scrambles under the covers after just a few moments, cold. He pulls out his English review sheets and put them on the bedside table before calling Kurt.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Puck grins. “How was your Pontiac?”

“Poorly maintained.” Kurt sniffs. “But otherwise, better than it could have been. Anything fun at work?”

“Some woman came in and asked for an iced hot chocolate. Seriously, she wanted a hot chocolate made, then dumped over iced. Said it tastes different than just chocolate milk.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Yeah. But then I wondered if she was right.”

Kurt laughs. “So you made one yourself and tried it?”

“Yeah,” Puck admits. “And she was right. Totally different taste.”

“Now you have a signature drink to offer.” Kurt pauses. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Gonna look over those review sheets again in a bit,” Puck says with a sigh. “But then at least we’re done, right?”

“Right. Oh, a heads up,” Kurt sighs. “Finn and Mike concocted some sort of scheme; I don’t know, Finn’s going to email or text or something everyone later. But the important thing is we no longer have Saturday free.”

“Ugh.”

“I know.” Kurt sighs. “I did convince him that Rachel would want to go to services. I may have implied that you might be expected to be there, too, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. If you don’t go, that is.”

“Mom and Hannah are usually gone by 9:30 on Saturdays.”

“Duly noted.” Kurt giggles for half a second. “Okay, baby. You need to review and I need to, too. Sweet dreams.”

“Always, K. You too.”

“Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

 

“I feel like today should have had a warning label,” Puck announces when Kurt slips into the choir room a good twenty minutes ahead of the final bell. “Warning: this day will seem long and dull.”

Kurt grins a little. “Seriously.” He sinks down on the piano bench next to Puck. “But at least you get to play, right?” He tilts his head in the direction of the guitar case he brought in with him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Puck grins. “Thanks for going to grab it.”

“Not a problem.” Kurt leans his head over onto Puck’s shoulder. “By the way. One hundred and thirty-one until graduation. Two hundred eleven until the first of August, which seems like as good of a date as any.”

“That doesn’t sound bad until I remember months only average around thirty.”

Kurt snorts. “Yeah.”

Puck puts his arm around Kurt’s waist, holding him close, and they sit there until almost time for the bell to ring. Puck stands and gets his guitar out while Kurt picks a seat on the back row. “Anyone else ask you to play?”

“Both sets of the girls. I assume Sam’s handling his group.”

“Right. Let’s see; Rachel’s group will go first, which will trigger the other three to go next, and then Mercedes and/or Tina will urge Sam and/or Mike for their group to go third, and we’ll be the last ones.”

“Probably,” Puck laughs, absently tuning one string as the bell rings and the others start to arrive.

Sure enough, Rachel, Tina, and Mercedes don’t even bother to sit down, taking their places at the front of the room before the entire club is assembled. At Rachel’s nod, Puck starts on the guitar part, and then the girls start to sing.

 _I know a cat named Way Out Willie  
He's got a cool little chick named Rockin' Millie  
He can walk and stroll and Susie Q  
And do that crazy hand jive too_

 _Papa told Willie, you'll ruin my home  
You and that hand jive have got to go  
Willie said, Papa, don't put me down  
They're doin' the hand jive all over town_

 _Hand jive, hand jive, hand jive, doin' that crazy hand jive_

Puck has a feeling they all used the same list that Kurt found of ‘songs that use the Bo Diddley Beat’ in order to complete the assignment. The three Cheerios head to the front of the room before the applause has finished for the first three. This time it’s Santana that nods in Puck’s direction before they start to sing.

 _I know a guy who's tough but sweet  
He's so fine, he can't be beat  
He's got everything that I desire  
Sets the summer sun on fire_

 _I want candy, I want candy_

Then Puck gets a chance to sit down for a moment while Sam, Mike, and Artie perform.

 _Well I guess it would be nice  
If I could touch your body  
I know not everybody  
Has got a body like you, mmm_

Mercedes and Tina get up and start dancing while the others keep performing.

 _'Cause I gotta have faith  
I gotta have faith  
'Cause I gotta have faith, faith,  
'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith_

When the song ends, Puck stands back up, and Finn and Kurt join him at the front. Kurt just winks at him this time, which is nicer than the perfunctory nods.

 _Yeah...  
Lover, I'm on the street  
Gonna go where the bright lights  
And the big city meet  
With a red guitar...on fire  
Desire_

The three of them really do sound good together, Puck can’t help but muse, so they should really be able to kill “Marchin’ On” at Regionals.

 _And the fever when I'm beside her  
Desire  
Desire_

 _And the fever, getting higher  
Desire  
Desire  
Burning...  
Burning..._

“Those were all fantastic!” Schue says at the end. “Remember, duets next week.” He grins at them all. “I have a great prize planned! And we’ll see everyone bright and early for doughnut sales?”

“Staggered shifts, actually,” Puck points out. “Those of us that don’t have exams in the morning will get here last and get everything ready for tomorrow night.” It still gives them time to sleep in.

“Oh, okay, yeah, great plan,” Schue nods. “All right. Good luck tomorrow night, Titans! See you next week, guys.”

Once Schue leaves the room, Finn calls out, “And don’t forget about Saturday, guys,” to an interesting mix of hurrahs and groans. “No need for the ‘tude,” he adds, pointing in the general direction of Mercedes and Tina.

“If the doughnut crew would like to come along,” Kurt adds immediately after Finn finishes. “We can grab some dinner via drive-through cuisine.”

“Big Mac time!” Mike cheers.

“Yeah, at least that gives us something to do part of the way there,” Puck nods. “What’d you say it was, Kurt?”

“Hour and a half.” Kurt leads the oddly assorted quintet to the Nav and unlocks it. “And yes, McDonald’s does seem to be the logically-placed choice.” He turns in his seat as he starts the engine. “Rachel, is there anything you can eat at McDonald’s?”

“I can have the granola, and a side salad, and one of the fruit and walnut salads without the dressing.” She shrugs. “It’s not perfect but I should manage fine. And I brought myself some soy string cheese!”

Puck turns his head slightly to hide the look on his face at the thought of soy cheese. And Finn made a crack about goat cheese, when his girlfriend eats fake cheese made from beans. Gross.

“McDonald’s makes me sad,” Britt says. “The toys on the signs and commercials are always so big, but the ones in the box are tiny and they don’t even move.”

“Maybe we’ll skip the toys tonight, Brittany,” Puck says gently. “Maybe an apple pie instead?”

“Oh, I like pie! Sometimes I like to mush it up in a cup and have them put ice cream on it. It’s not on the menu, but they always do it if I ask.”

Puck would hit his hand to his forehead if Brittany wouldn’t ask why, because that’s not really something to order in drive-through.

“Okay, everyone pony up,” Puck says as they hit the order screen. He waits for Kurt to finish telling the poor worker all their orders, and then divides the total roughly by five. “Okay, ten bucks, the leftover is gas money, because the Nav guzzles it.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, Kurt,” Puck points out.

Kurt sighs. “I know.”

“I didn’t bring a pony this time,” Britt says. “Is just the money okay?”

“Yes, just the money is fine,” Puck nods, then rolls his eyes at Rachel, who gives him a five, four ones, two quarters, and five dimes. “Dumping your change much?”

“It seemed logical,” she protests.

They get their food with a minimum of fuss and continue down the road to Columbus, eventually the subject turning back to the auditions they’re nominally trying to forget. By the time they hit the outskirts of Columbus, Puck’s stomach is churning a little, listening to the conversation, and he thinks that one of two things is happening. One, Kurt’s right about the anxiety thing, or two, McDonald’s really is bad for you.

Of course, it could be both.

Suddenly, Brittany yelps excitedly from the back seat, “The hot light is flashing!” She claps her hands. “The light! The light!”

Puck turns in the direction she’s looking and yes, sure enough, the sign for hot doughnuts is flashing. “Maybe we should get a dozen for us,” he muses. “Quality control.”

“Are they vegan?” Rachel says with a small whimper.

“Sure,” Kurt says bracingly. “They use non-animal shortening and soy lecithin.”

“Yeah, hi,” Puck says as they enter the store. “We’re here to pick up a lot of doughnuts.”

“Millions of doughnuts, please,” Brittany says, placing her hands on the counter. “In boxes would be best. I don’t think they’ll all fit in my purse.”

“You kids the group from Lima?” Puck nods. “All right, pull around to the side to load.”

“We want one more dozen of the hot ones, for now,” Puck adds, and the lady grins.

“Sure you do. Everyone does!”

Puck laughs and pays her for one hundred dozen doughnuts, which is a lot, and then they spend twenty minutes fitting all the boxes into the Nav. Kurt’s not going to be able to see behind him all that well, and there is the slight danger of Brittany being crushed by sliding doughnut boxes, but they head back towards Lima with a full load, plus the box of hot ones that is being passed around enthusiastically.

“This car smells delicious,” Brittany says, eating her doughnut. “I think heaven smells like this.”

“Are there Krispy Kreme stores in Boston? I need to find out,” Mike mumbles around a mouthful.

“Dunno.” Puck shrugs. “There’s only one in all of New York, though. Penn Station.”

“You guys will have to take field trips,” Brittany suggests. “Do they do field trips in college?”

“I think college is one big field trip,” Kurt answers her. “Except for the homework.”

“I admit I am relieved at the idea of never taking some subjects again,” Rachel says with a sigh.

“Me too!” Mike agrees.

“Oh, definitely,” Puck nods. “How many days again?”

“Two hundred one.”

Mike laughs. “From now until?”

“August first.” Kurt shrugs. “It seemed like an easy benchmark.”

“Oh, is that when the game is over?” Brittany asks.

“No, that’s more like one hundred forty... something,” Puck answers with a grin.

“I’m bad at counting. Will you let me know when it’s done so we can add up my points?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Kurt says, probably because he caught Puck’s bewildered look out of the corner of his eye. “But I think you’ll probably win.”

“What’s the prize going to be?” Brittany says. “I’m allergic to hazelnuts, just in case that’s it.”

“Haven’t picked one out yet, so we’ll keep that in mind.”

“What game?” Mike finally interjects, looking really confused. “Are we all playing a game?”

“No, not you, Mike,” Brittany says, shaking her head. “If you were, you’d know. Sorry!” She pats him on the shoulder. “It’s fun, so it’s too bad.”

“Oh, okay.” Mike shrugs. “Well, I hope you win, then, Britt.”

“Thanks! I do, too. But if I don’t win, I’m rooting for Puck. He’s so nice now. You’re nice, Puck,” she calls up to him.

“Thanks, Britt,” he responds with a wry smile. “And I think I’ll be fine if you win.”

“This is a very strange conversation,” Rachel comments. “But it makes me think that perhaps we as a group should play more games, as a way of building our bonds of teamwork.”

“Yes, none of us ever see the rest of us socially outside school,” Kurt says dryly.

“I see Santana all the time,” Brittany says. “Some parts of her more than others, though.”

Kurt makes a face that’s half-disgusted and half-amused, and Puck chokes back a laugh of his own. The remainder of the ride feels quicker than it did on the way to Columbus, but it takes longer to unload the doughnuts just inside the door at the school, Mike unlocking the doors to the auditorium and then winding through the hallways.

Puck’s really glad he doesn’t actually have an exam the next day, or anything other than dual enrollment, because he’s tireder than he thinks he ought to be when he arrives home. His mom and Hannah are fast asleep, and even though he’s just spent a good four or five hours with Kurt, he still grins when his phone lights up ten minutes after he gets home.

“Home safe?”

“Home safe,” Kurt agrees. “I know it’s not that late but I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, me too.” Puck sighs a little. “But, hey. Nine hundred more dollars has to be some kind of awesome meal, right?” He grins a little. “I bet we could get a lot of that p-stuff for $75 a person.”

“Pate?” Kurt giggles slightly. “You’re going to be one of those obnoxious foodies, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what that means,” Puck confesses.

“If you can remember what the food’s called, that is,” Kurt teases. “Let me guess, you were thinking that McDonald’s wasn’t all the awesome to you now.”

Puck frowns at the phone. “Hey.”

Kurt giggles again. “I was right?”

“Is this some kind of gay thing that no one told me about?”

“No.” Kurt’s laughs are louder, then muffled suddenly, like he flipped over, mouth pressed into his pillow. “You’ve just never had anything but simple, solid Midwestern, um.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure it’s cuisine.”

Kurt snorts but contains his laughter this time. “Traditional foods?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“We should sleep,” Kurt says through another round of giggles. “I want you here. I should have left the Nav with you, you could park down the road and I could sneak out.”

“Devious.”

“I miss sleeping with you,” Kurt says quietly. “I mean, I _can_ sleep this week, at least, but.”

“Yeah. We should save the rule-breaking for February at least, though. Spread it out in case we get caught.”

Kurt laughs for a second. “Good point.” He sighs. “Night, baby.”

“Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

 

When Kurt and Puck get to the school just after the first bell the next morning, Finn’s alone with empty boxes, some full ones, and the cash box, reading over notes for some class. He heads to the library when they approach, and the two of them spend an hour relocating the remaining doughnuts to the stadium and then depositing the accumulated cash, excepting some change for the evening.

Then Burt calls and asks Kurt to run down to a supplier in Tipp City, so they spend the rest of the morning on 75 South and then 75 North, having just enough time to grab some food before heading to class.

“So if you’re right,” Puck says, climbing back into the Nav after classes, “then we should stop eating at restaurants here so much.”

“How does that follow?” Kurt tilts his head.

“Well, all that fancy food costs more, so if we spend less on food here, we have more to spend other places, right?” Puck shrugs.

“You were looking at restaurants before bed last night, weren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Puck admits. “And yeah, I know, I need to read the rest of those links.”

“Food’s more fun.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re probably right. We should plan better or something.”

“Yeah.” Puck nods. “And I’ll read those links this afternoon.”

“You can use the iPad while I use the laptop, or vice versa.”

“Sweet.”

The afternoon goes fast; a little bit of reading, a super-early dinner, and then Finn, Puck, and Kurt are all headed towards the stadium, Finn disappearing into the locker room with a cursory “see ya,” head already in the game. Puck and Kurt set up the doughnut sales but end up finishing that quickly; even cold Krispy Kremes on a cold January night turn out to be a hot commodity.

The Panthers and the Titans take the field ten minutes late, apparently due to a bus malfunction for the Panthers, and that seems to be an omen for their team. When the Titans are up 17-0 at the end of the first quarter, Rachel turns to Puck with a puzzled look on her face. “I thought this would be harder, since it’s the championship game?”

Puck shakes his head. “They weren’t supposed to make it this far. The team they beat in their Regional Championship was actually favored to win State this year, and the team they played last week, they had to play half of their second string due to a bunch of the team getting the flu. So we’re definitely the favorites here.”

“Ohh,” Rachel nods, and her smile gets even brighter. “That’s wonderful!”

The score at the half is 24-0, and when the teams retake the field, the McKinley defense is even better, delivering four sacks, three interceptions, and five recovered fumbles. Finn leads the offense in a scoring drive for each of the turnovers, so the final score is a ridiculously lopsided 60-0.

There’s immediate spillage from the stands onto the field, everyone celebrating, and Puck gets separated from Kurt when a gaggle of sophomore girls crashes between them. By the time the girls have moved on, Puck can’t find Kurt easily in the crowd, so he pushes on towards where Finn is standing. Kurt arrives from the opposite direction at the same time, and Puck worms his way over to him, taking advantage of the confusion to slide his hand into Kurt’s back pocket.

“Puck! Kurt! Dudes!” Finn shouts, over the horde. “Holy shit!” He puts his arms up in an ‘I’m not even sure what happened out there’ gesture.

“Hell of a game,” Puck shouts back, grinning. “Think maybe you could run the score up a little more, though? Something to keep in mind.”

“Yeah, for next time,” Finn laughs. “Holy shit!” he repeats. “No next time!” He pushes he way through the crowd until he’s right next to Puck and Kurt. “I’m gonna be so damn bored on Friday nights I don’t even know what I’m gonna do about it. You think we can add another practice?”

“Oh, god,” Kurt groans, but he’s smiling. “Monster. We created a monster!”

“Take your girlfriend out on Friday nights, dude.”

“Dude, you’ve _met_ my girlfriend. She’d love a Friday night rehearsal!”

“Weirdest foreplay,” Puck says, ostensibly under his breath and just to Kurt, but loud enough for Finn to hear.

“Oh, you are _not_ even gonna go there,” Finn says, goodnaturedly. “This is the night of my victory! You should, I dunno, bring me something over which to be victoriouser. Like more doughnuts.”

“They were all gone within minutes,” Kurt shrugs. “But there’s always Pat’s.”

“Take me to Pat’s!” Finn commands. “I will rule over the doughnuts.”

Puck laughs as Kurt answers. “Go shower first. No sweat stains in the Nav, dear brother.”

“Fine, then. I’ll rule over the showers and _then_ I’ll rule over the doughnuts,” Finn responds. “I’m the ruler of everything I survey!”

“Except the Nav,” Puck points out as they start to meander through the crowd.

“The _back_ of the Nav. I’ll rule there.”

“None of those kind of stains either, please,” Kurt says in a bored tone, sighing.

“Huh?”

Puck grins. “You did say you wanted to rule the back of the Nav.”

Finn just looks at him blankly, then smiles. “Yeah, I have no idea what we’re talking about here, so I’m gonna go shower and then rule some doughnuts.”

“You do that.” Puck claps him on the shoulder. “Seriously, awesome game, man.”

“Thanks, bro. Wish you could have been out there with us.”

Puck tilts his head a little and shrugs. “It is what is is, but thanks.”

 

Despite their ostensible plans for Saturday morning, Puck ends up at the Hudmel house by 8:30, eating some kind of breakfast enchilada that Carole decided to attempt, and then he and Kurt park near the piano. Kurt works on his writing portfolio whatever for awhile while Puck uses the piano, and then he plays the accompaniment part so Kurt can practice his audition song. After that, they mutually decide to take a break, and Puck pulls out his guitar, strumming through the melody of the song they started working on in Chicago.

“What if we took it up three there, instead of down?” Kurt asks, tilting his head and then rummaging through his bag for a notebook.

Puck tries it, playing that part through a few times, and nods. “Yeah, it works. Cool.” He picks up his pencil and modifies it in his notebook. “You really think we can finish this in just another couple of weeks?”

“We’re already more than halfway there,” Kurt points out. “And there’s no hard deadline. Especially since no one else even knows we’re writing it.”

“Good point.” Puck grins. “That does keep the pressure down considerably.”

For lunch, Carole’s made a black bean soup with spicy pork, and the Mexican jag is almost a little weird, so Puck makes a mental note for them to possibly eat with his mom and Hannah, or to find their own dinner. Otherwise, he wonders if they’d find themselves eating tacos or fajitas or something.

When they finish, Kurt heads up the stairs, and Puck follows him. “Aren’t we about to leave?”

“I thought I’d change into something else.” Kurt shrugs. “You’re already dressed for dancing, but I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah.” Puck looks down. “Unlike your brother, I don’t think the pink makes my ass look big.” He snorts. “And I might as well get at least one other use out of them, right?”

“Right.” Kurt grins and pulls on a similar pair of pants, except in navy, then a brightly patterned red, white, and blue tank top that looks vaguely familiar and a hoodie. “Okay, I’ll just grab my sneakers downstairs.” He pads down the stairs in his socks and Puck follows behind him, knocking once on Finn’s doorframe as they pass by.

“Let’s go, Hudson,” he calls back over his shoulder, and there’s some rustling after that, so Puck continues down the stairs.

Kurt jams his feet into his sneakers and they head through the garage to the Nav, still with no sign of Finn. “You’d think he’d be sitting on the hood waiting.”

“No, he knows I’d slaughter him if he did something as gauche as sitting on the hood.”

Finn comes running out of the house and flings himself into the back seat of the Nav. “Sorry! Sorry guys, I had to find some pants I could dance in. Apparently I don’t really have a lot of dancing pants other than those–oh, dude. You’re wearing the pink pants.”

Puck shrugs. “Figured I ought to get at least one more use out of them, right?”

“Uh, I guess? Anyway, I went with these,” Finn says, indicating his sweat pants. “I hope I don’t get too hot.”

“I suppose it depends on what they keep the thermostat at for the weekend,” Kurt remarks. “That’s why I went for layers.”

“Oh, yeah. I did that too. See?” Finn tugs up his sweatshirt to reveal a t-shirt underneath it, and then an undershirt underneath that. “I learned from the master, I guess.”

“Write that down, K. You have on fewer layers than Finn.”

Kurt laughs. “That is sort of a unique occurrence.”

“I’m a unique guy.”

“Speaking of unique, or not unique, I’m a little afraid that Carole’s going to serve tacos or something for dinner.”

“Dude, you noticed all the Mexican stuff, too?” Finn shakes his head. “Did your dad buy her a new cookbook or something? ‘Cause this is weird.”

“She muttered something this morning about substituting egg replacement stuff and tofu sausage once we were gone,” Kurt points out. “So maybe she’s trying to find spicy ways to disguise the aftertaste of soy.”

“I dunno, Kurt,” Finn says. “I mean, she never really even _liked_ Mexican food all that much before.”

“Yeah, but Burt _did_ eat like, three of those enchilada things,” Puck points out. “And a huge bowl of the soup, all without complaining.”

“Well, maybe that’s it,” Finn answers, sounding unconvinced. “I just know if I have to eat one more mouthful of black beans, I’m growing a bandito mustache and, I dunno, like, defending the Alamo or something.”

“My eyes,” Kurt sighs and shakes his head as they pull into the lot. “We’ll buy you a sombrero.”

“Olé!”

“Schue would probably cry if he knew your command of Spanish, or lack thereof.” Kurt shrugs as they climb out of the Nav and walk towards the door. “On the other hand, that could be amusing to see.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Finn says. “I think Mr. Schue is a crier. I bet he cries a lot.”

“Weeper,” Puck states. “Blubbery, almost silent.”

“Snot coming out his nose and everything,” Finn adds. “Awful. We’re awful.”

“Eww, gross.” Puck wrinkles his nose as they walk into the auditorium. “I don’t want to think about anyone’s snot.”

“What?” Mike’s already up on stage. “Snot? That’s kind of weird, guys.”

“It’s Finn’s fault,” Kurt says quickly.

“I can’t help it,” Finn responds. “It’s, like, petrological.”

Puck just shrugs at Mike’s inquisitive look. No clue what dinosaurs have to do with it.

The others straggle in clumps until they’re all standing on the stage, looking at Finn and Mike expectantly. Mike gestures for Finn to start.

“Ok, guys,” Finn says, raising his voice to make sure he has everyone’s attention. “This is gonna mostly be Mike’s show, because, well, I don’t think any of you want to rely on my choreography skills.” There’s a low murmur of laughter before Finn continues. “I want everybody putting in one-hundred-percent effort today. No ‘I don’t need to practice’ or ‘can we quit now.’ We quit when Mike says we’re good enough to quit and anybody who doesn’t like it can...can...I dunno, but I’ll come up with something, and you won’t like it, I promise.” He jabs his pointer finger at them menacingly. “No whining.”

Everyone’s seemingly cowed into silence as Mike grins and starts talking. “Okay, so we’re going to start out easy, with ‘Waiting on the World to Change.’ That’ll get us warmed up, but first, twenty jumping jacks.”

No one groans, a few people shooting looks at Finn instead, and they proceed to do jumping jacks and then let Mike position them around the stage at will. It takes less time than Puck expects for Mike to be satisfied with “Waiting on the World to Change”–under an hour, actually–but then it’s nearly two hours for “Marchin’ On.”

“Okay, water break again!” Mike announces, still cheerful. “Two songs down, only one to go!”

“Yeah, the most complicated one,” Tina points out.

“I feel like it’s July,” Kurt comments, the hoodie long discarded.

“Wow, Kurt,” Tina says suddenly. “Where’d those arms come from?”

“Hmm?”

Mercedes turns towards him and nods. “Damn, boy. That’s some muscle.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows and then looks down at himself and shrugs. “I guess it’s just from working at the shop.”

“Still, man, that’s some sweet definition,” Mike adds.

“Says the man with the chiseled abs,” Puck laughs.

“Hey, a perfect body isn’t everything,” Finn says. “I should know.”

“It’s not your fault you’re too tall,” Kurt says lightly.

“Says the guy all the girls are making moony eyes over,” Finn snorts. “Kinda unfair, dude.”

“Yes, it’s clearly attention that I’ve been pining for,” Kurt sighs dramatically. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“Damn. That’s exactly why I was gonna hate you!”

Kurt sniffs and frowns exaggeratedly. “At least some people still love me!”

“Yeah, Tina and Mercedes and Mike,” Finn jokes. “They want to see your arms some more. You should go, I dunno, hug them or something.”

“My apparently stunning arms might crush them like a vice grip.”

“Oh, I’ll chance it,” Mike grins, walking over to Kurt and giving him a ridiculous hug, while Kurt squeezes back. “Oh no! Help! Kurt’s like a boa constrictor!”

“Hang in there, Mike,” Finn yells. “I’ll call the fire department for the jaws of life!”

“Can’t... hold... on... much... longer!” Mike gasps out.

“Cliff Hanger!” Brittany squeals. “I hope he finally got off that cliff.”

“The real question now,” Sam grins, “is can Kurt’s garage-arms beat Puck’s guns?”

“They should wrestle,” Brittany says. “That’s how me and Santana solve our fights.”

“Wrestling. Hmm.” Puck can’t resist smirking in Finn’s direction. “That would be one way to resolve the issue.”

Finn just rolls his eyes. “Then do your wrestling or _whatever_ later, ok?”

“Good point,” Kurt says smoothly, taking a long gulp of water, head thrown back. “Wrestling could get loud. Or take awhile.”

“Dude!” Finn snaps. “Mike, get us back on track!”

“All right, guys,” Mike says with a funny look in Finn’s direction. “Let’s knock out this last song.”

Puck feels like he’s going to collapse by the time Mike finally declares them finished with “Tubthumping.” On the bright side, they’re _done_ , and all they have to do now is practice it. For almost two months. Everyone’s breathing heavily and they slump against the walls, clutching their water and Gatorade and shit like they’re precious diamonds.

“That was awesome!” Finn says, though it comes out more like a moan than anything else.

“It was something,” Puck agrees. “We all look like we got stuck in a car wash.” They do–sweat has soaked through their clothes, and most of them are removing sneakers and socks, wiggling their toes.

Without even thinking about it, Puck reaches over and picks up Kurt’s foot, rubbing it carefully, and Kurt bites back a whimper before pulling his foot back. “We’re really getting indiscreet,” Kurt whispers, and Puck thumps his head back on the wall. Right.

“Let’s ditch Finn with Rachel.”

“Okay,” Kurt agrees with a nod. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Something insane like 6:30.”

“Think your mom’s already fed Hannah?”

“Probably.” Puck shrugs. “But there’s probably leftovers around.”

“As long as it’s not Mexican.”

“Seriously.”

There are, in fact, assorted leftovers in Puck’s refrigerator, and once they’ve eaten, they retreat to Puck’s room, where he picks up Kurt’s foot again and resumes rubbing it. “God that feels amazing,” Kurt moans, lying back on Puck’s pillow. “I promise I’ll do yours in a few minutes. After I come back to earth.”

Puck chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Flatterer.”

“Think your mom will go to bed soon?”

“I think we can close the door as soon as Hannah goes to bed, anyway.”

Kurt smiles beatifically. “Go ahead and set the alarm; ten minutes before curfew should be plenty of time for you to get me home.”

Puck grins and leans over Kurt, kissing him deeply. “You got it.”

 

Somehow, Rina presses Kurt and Puck into service making dinner on Sunday–chicken pot pie and fruit salad with almonds. Hannah complains about their current unit in P.E.; apparently, gymnastics is not her favorite thing. “And why do we have to learn metric units, anyway?”

“Science,” Puck answers her. “Science is all done in metric. Plus it’s actually easier.”

“I don’t like it,” she grouses, stabbing at her fruit. “I don’t like almonds, either.”

“Is there anything you _do_ like?” Rina asks, hiding a smile.

“No school tomorrow,” Hannah fires back. “I like that.”

“Me too,” Puck grins and winks at her.

“Aren’t you still working?”

“Yeah, opening until 2.” Puck shrugs. “Still. Better than nothing.”

“Mom’s taking the day off,” Hannah announces. “So I don’t have to go to aftercare ‘camp.’”

“Cool,” Puck nods, because he remembers having to go to those, being annoyed that he was still _at_ school on a day off, even if he wasn’t having to do work. “Now we have to scram, squirt.”

“Already?”

“My brother is a harsh taskmaster,” Kurt states, nodding solemnly.

“We’re giving him a ride, I assume?”

“Yes. In fact, we’re under strict instructions to time it exactly. So that I don’t waste gas and he doesn’t get cold, apparently.”

Puck laughs. “Did he make you synchronize your watches?”

“I suspect he’s saving that for February.”

Kurt apparently mistimes it, as Finn is already on his way down the stairs when Kurt pulls up to the curb and unlocks the doors. Finn jogs up to the Nav and hops inside.

“We ready?” Finn asks, closing the door behind him.

“I think I have a blister,” Puck reports. “But sure.”

“Whine, whine, whine,” Finn says.

“Did Carole make more Mexican fare?”

“Something called adobo chicken,” Finn says, making a face. “It was spicy.”

“So strange.” Kurt shakes his head. “Any leftovers?”

“A ton. Even Burt didn’t eat much. I mean, how much Mexican food can a guy eat in a week?”

“Maybe on top of a salad?” Kurt muses.

“No clue. I’m gonna start sneaking Chinese food up to my bedroom if she keeps this up,” Finn says. “Can we find her new cookbook and hide it for a few days? Or weeks?”

“I have a feeling she’s using the internet,” Kurt points out.

“You need someone to hack your internet connection and block Food Network,” Puck laughs. “Actually, we could probably use that, too. Keep Hannah from watching video clips all day tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna send Food Network a letter of complaint,” Finn grumbles. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Or at least switch her to a different cuisine. Oh, wait, now we’re back on that topic,” Kurt laughs, exchanging a glance with Puck.

“Traditional food.” Puck snorts.

“I’d take traditional food over all this Mexican,” Finn complains. “It’s just messing with my stomach.”

“Maybe Carole should buy us all Tums if we can’t get her off the Mexican jag.”

“I might have to turn into a vegan like Rachel for a while to come up with an excuse not to eat it. I swear, I’m _dreaming_ about rice and beans, man.”

“Rice and beans _are_ vegan,” Kurt points out with a slight smile as they pull up at Rachel’s house.

“Maybe Rachel’s dads have something good to eat,” Finn says, looking hopeful. “Something not Mexican.”

“Hopefully none of that bean-cheese stuff,” Puck wrinkles his nose. “That stuff made the Nav smell funny while she was eating it.” They trudge through the slush up to the door and Kurt raps on the knocker. The door swings open to reveal Leroy, balancing an overloaded plate of brownies in one hand.

“Hi, boys,” he says, ushering them in. “Rachel’s mixing up some kind of hot chocolate something-or-another for everyone. I can assure you, it’s both vegan and hot, but that’s about all I can promise you.”

“As long as it’s not Mexican vegan hot chocolate, we’re golden,” Finn says, walking back into the kitchen to check in with Rachel.

“No, please nothing with soy,” Puck adds, making a face. “I swear, there’s something unnatural about beans imitating dairy products.”

“Maybe it’s... I don’t know. Rice milk?” Kurt guesses.

“Probably almond,” Leroy suggests. “She’s been on a kick lately. Apparently she read something about phytoestrogens in soy being bad, so now it’s all almond milk.”

“I’ve seen that,” Kurt remarks, “but I figured that for my father, it wasn’t a huge concern.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know what the food rules are from one week to the next,” Leroy confesses. “When it gets really bad, I sneak out for a burger.”

“I found this place in New York City that puts that other stuff on a burger,” Puck comments. “What is it again, K?”

“Pate.” Kurt grins, amused.

“Well, that sounds...horrid, actually, but to each his own,” Leroy says, with a smile.

“Yeah, it sounded like something to try, anyway.” Puck shrugs.

“Anyone else here yet?” Kurt asks.

“Not yet, but–” Leroy is interrupted by the doorbell. “My cue.”

“Mr. Berry,” Santana’s voice floats into the room. “Evening.”

“It smells like something in here,” Brittany says. “Like chocolate, but also not like chocolate.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything, but trails Santana and Brittany into the room.

“Puckerman. Kurt.” Santana nods at each of them in turn. “Anyone else have sore feet today?”

“Nope,” Puck shakes his head, smirking a little.

“Me either.” Kurt smiles brightly.

“Hey, guys,” Finn says, popping out of the kitchen. “Rachel made some kind of hot almond chocolate milk thing. I’m not exactly sure what it is, other than not Mexican.”

“Thankfully,” Kurt adds.

The doorbell rings again and Leroy heads back to the door. “Hi, Mr. Berry!” Mercedes greets him.

“Hi, Mercedes, Sam, Tina, Mike, Artie,” Leroy lists them off. “You hiding anybody else out there with you?”

“Not this week!” Tina answers cheerily. They file into the living room and Artie rolls up and fistbumps Puck.

“‘Sup,” Puck nods.

“Not much. Still wallowing in self-pity over the shittiness of women,” Artie says. “Present company excluded. Mostly.”

Puck snorts, suppressing a laugh. “You need to get out of this town for a night or something.”

“Yeah, I wish.”

“Just get on 75 and drive, dude.”

“And go where? I dunno, getting out of town is what got me in trouble to begin with,” Artie sighs. “I think I’m establishing a strict no-women policy until I’m out in California.”

“Good luck with that.” Puck shrugs. He looks towards the kitchen and frowns a little. Fake-milk hot chocolate must be complicated. Either that, or Finn was adopting a do as I say, not as I do approach, and was doing other things with Rachel. “Hey, Leroy, do I need to go check on your daughter and her boyfriend?” Puck asks, raising his voice and grinning.

“Are they still back there? I’ll just go–”

“Here!” Finn says, appearing in the doorway, looking slightly rumpled. “Here we are!”

“That’s funny, I would have sworn that shirt was buttoned before,” Kurt says sweetly, smirking.

“What?” Finn says, looking down at his own chest. “Uh, no, I’m pretty sure it was always like this. The whole time, since before we got here.”

“Sure, Romeo,” Santana cracks. “We see how it is. For the rest of us, it’s work work work, but you get to play.”

“And here’s Rachel with the hot, um, chocolate-ish!” Finn announces, Rachel coming through the doorway with a tray full of mugs.

“This is an excellent drink to help keep our vocal cords warm and well-nourished!” Rachel announces. “And it’s quite healthy as well.”

“What’s in it?” Mercedes asks. “Girl, you know I don’t want any of that fake chocolate.”

“It’s not carob, Mercedes,” Rachel reassures her. “It’s chocolate and almond milk.” She passes the mugs around and Puck takes a suspicious sip. It’s not _bad_ , per se, but it’s nothing he’d choose to drink on his own, that’s for sure.

“Thanks, Rach,” Finn says, finishing his mug and setting it back on the discarded tray. “If you guys are ready, we should head on down and start rehearsing.”

“Of course!” Rachel says, and they all head down to the “Oscar room.” They spread out and all look at Finn expectantly.

“Well, we’ve all run through the choreography,” Finn says, and there are a few groans in response, which he ignores. “So I think that we should practice that so Mike can get a better idea of transitions between songs, how to get us from where we are to where we need to be.” Finn looks at Mike.

“Right,” Mike nods, agreeing, and then grins almost wickedly. “I hope everyone’s feet have recovered from yesterday!”

“I have a blister on my blister,” Finn says, “but I’m ready to go.”

“I’m wishing my dad were a podiatrist instead of a dentist,” Mercedes says with a slow shake of her head.

Santana snorts. “I wish Lima _had_ a podiatrist.”

“Amazingly, my feet are fine,” Artie says.

 

Monday feels familiar in a way that Puck find surprising. Yes, the winter break had been wonderful, but he hadn’t thought he’d come to expect it, in some ways, more than the usual school routine. He’s decidedly cheerful as his shift comes to an end, and he changes quickly before pointing the Nav towards Burt’s shop.

Danny waves as Puck pulls in, and Kurt emerges a moment later with a broad smile. “I shouldn’t be this excited about a single day off from school. Though technically we had most of Friday off.”

“I know,” Puck agrees. “But it’s just...” he trails off, trying to find the words.

“Such a relief?” Kurt supplies quietly.

“Yeah.” Puck nods. “Yeah, exactly.” They walk slowly into Kurt’s house, leaving their boots at the door, and Kurt smiles slowly.

“It’s not exactly as good as Tuesday, but I suggested to Rachel that this afternoon was an excellent time for her and Finn to go see a movie. I think I may have inadvertently caused an argument over _Coriolanus_ versus _Joyful Noise_.”

“It’s nice of them to sacrifice like that for us.”

“I know, isn’t it?” Kurt giggles and closes the bedroom door. “Mmm, I want to do all sorts of things with you.”

“Oh?” Puck runs one hand through Kurt’s hair, letting it rest when it’s cupping the back of Kurt’s head, and puts the other around Kurt’s waist, resting his hand in the small of Kurt’s back. Kurt melts against him, pliable and relaxed. “Would you like to tell me these things?” he adds in a murmur, putting his lips to Kurt’s ear and then brushing them over Kurt’s jaw before capturing Kurt’s own lips.

Puck slides his tongue along Kurt’s lips, slipping it inside Kurt’s mouth as they part, and Kurt’s tongue meets his, slow but a little sloppy, already the hint of _more_ simmering behind. Kurt’s arms come up and wrap around Puck’s neck as he further deepens the kiss and their bodies rock towards each other. Kurt slowly pulls away, resting his forehead on Puck’s, their lips almost touching still. “I thought perhaps I’d show you, instead,” Kurt answers finally, smiling, and Puck’s mouth imitates the expression almost involuntarily.

“I... could be amenable,” Puck nods, the barest of movements. He curls his fingers in Kurt’s hair and brushes their lips together again. He moves his other hand to slide under Kurt’s shirt, fingertips trailing up Kurt’s spine, and Kurt arches his back slightly, moving into the touch.

Kurt moves his own hands to rest on Puck’s chest, curling his fingers under slightly before flattening them. He unbuttons Puck’s shirt slowly, fingers sliding over the exposed skin as he travels downward, and then he pushes the fabric off Puck’s shoulders. Puck lets it slide to the floor as Kurt’s thumbs slide over his nipples, light and barely there, and then Kurt’s lips are back on Puck’s and his hands gently kneading at Puck’s shoulders.

Puck uses both hands to slide the fabric of Kurt’s shirt up, exposing more and more skin, until they’re forced to pull apart as Puck removes the article of clothing and tosses it aside. When Kurt’s arms pull him back close, they both make a small noise of, Puck thinks, contentment, skin sliding along skin and grounding them.

They stand there for long minutes, still kissing, hands running smoothly over the exposed skin, until temptation gets the better of Puck and he reaches for Kurt’s belt, unbuckling it slowly as he continues his slow and thorough mapping of Kurt’s mouth with his tongue. He runs his hand, open-palmed, down the front of Kurt’s jeans, drawing the small moan straight from Kurt’s mouth into his, and then Kurt rolls his hips forward, pressing his erection into Puck’s fingers.

Puck fumbles with the button and the zipper, then pushes jeans and underwear down together, letting them stop at Kurt’s knees. He puts his palm back on Kurt’s erection, and Kurt breaks away, taking a loud breath and then surging back against Puck. Puck slides his hand up and then slowly down twice before kneeling in front of Kurt and lightly tonguing at the head of Kurt’s cock.

Kurt holds himself perfectly still for a moment, while Puck carefully brings his tongue over each square inch of Kurt’s erection, licking up the length in steady, even strokes. He cups Kurt’s balls in one hand, then moves his mouth to them, letting his fingers tease over the skin behind them, then circling Kurt’s entrance. Puck finally releases Kurt for a moment and then fixes his mouth over the head of Kurt’s cock, his tongue lapping at the slit.

Kurt’s hand rests on the back of his head and Kurt gasps a little, his hips rocking forward at last, and Puck slides his lips farther down, twisting his tongue around Kurt’s length. There’s another sound from above Puck’s head, and he slows his movements, teasingly. He opens his mouth a little farther, letting the full weight of Kurt’s cock rest on his tongue and lower jaw as he moves his face as close to Kurt as he can. The faint smell of motor oil mingles with sweat and the underlying smell of Kurt, and he grasps Kurt’s hips with both hands, smoothing his thumbs in little circles over the same spot, the bones of his pelvis jutting out and framing his dark curls.

Puck swirls his tongue around the tip, tasting the slow leak of fluid until it streams out more steadily, and then he releases Kurt, standing again and forcing Kurt’s mouth open under the assault of Puck’s tongue. Kurt thrusts against Puck, still clad in denim, and whimpers a little as he parts his lips further. Then Kurt’s hands are tugging at Puck’s own belt, forcing Puck’s jeans and underwear down without fulling unzipping them. He curls his fingers around Puck’s erection, pumping it quickly before releasing it just as quickly.

The thought flits across Puck’s mind that they’ve both been painfully hard for–well, Puck doesn’t know how long, but awhile, and he’s not sure how much long either of them can last. Kurt must have the same thought, because he slowly backs towards the bed, tugging Puck with him, and then twists at the last minute, Puck hitting the bed first with Kurt tumbling on top of him. Their lips separate for a moment before coming back together with a sloppy smack, and Kurt’s erection drags along Puck’s own for a moment before Kurt tilts his hips away.

Puck pulls away after another moment, gasping for breath. “Blue eyes. Need you inside me, K.”

“Yeah, oh, god, yeah,” Kurt agrees, panting into Puck’s ear. “Just for you, all yours, baby.” He dips a hand between them and brushes his fingertips over Puck’s erection and then his balls, Puck pulling his legs up and away to give Kurt better access. Kurt’s fingers circle Puck’s entrance, teasing and avoiding Puck’s attempt to initiate penetration. Puck whines and makes a face.

“Kurt.”

Kurt giggles, then slowly slides a spit-slicked finger inside, the extra friction making Puck whimper as he shifts towards Kurt. Kurt quickly adds a second, pushing them inside with deliberate slowness, his touch echoing down Puck’s nerves. His fingers brush against Puck’s prostate and he bucks helplessly, biting down on his lip. Kurt leans over Puck, carefully avoiding any touch to Puck’s hard and weeping cock, and then applies a small amount of lube to his own cock, touching the tip of it to Puck’s entrance even as he’s withdrawing his fingers from his other hand.

Puck scrambles to move his legs when Kurt lifts them, rocking his hips as small pleas echo from his lips. Kurt presses the head of his cock inside Puck, and Puck shudders with relief until Kurt stops, not moving any further until Puck opens his eyes and locks his gaze with Kurt’s. Kurt moves again, then, still going exquisitely slowly, not stopping again until all of his length is inside Puck. Puck feels like he could just _break_ , fall apart and he wants to, wants to just forget everything but Kurt’s cock and Kurt’s voice and Kurt’s smell and Kurt’s touch.

“Puck, baby, god, yeah, oh so good, Puck, Puck,” Kurt cries out, turning Puck’s name into a chant of sorts, and then at least he starts to move. His hips whip furiously from front to back, turning the slow and deliberate speed from earlier into a frenzied and almost uncoordinated ride that Puck is happy to take. He tightens himself around Kurt at the apex of each stroke, causing Kurt’s breath to hitch and the pitch of his voice to alter, and when Kurt’s hand closes around Puck’s erection, Puck comes hard, yelling Kurt’s name. Kurt whimpers as Puck’s body convulses under and around him, and then Kurt comes as well, his cry of Puck’s name equally loud.

Puck’s legs slide bonelessly down to the bed, uncoordinated and floppy, and Kurt follows them seconds later, draped half on top of Puck, the rest of his body seemingly trying to become one with the mattress. Puck listens to Kurt’s breathing slow down and even out, and Kurt’s arm shifts a little, wrapping around Puck’s chest. “Beautiful,” Puck says softly after a long moment, and Kurt’s fingers stroke down his arm slowly in acknowledgement.

“Always amazing,” Kurt whispers after another minute, and then they shift positions, lying on their sides, facing each other. Kurt pulls a throw over the two of them and then moves even closer to Puck, smiling. “Can we do this every Monday, instead of school and glee club and classes and work?”

“Sounds like a much better deal,” Puck agrees, grinning in response. “We should ask.”

“Or, you know.” Kurt makes a face. “Just _one_ day off, once a week. It’s about the only thing religion got right,” he adds grumpily, and Puck can’t help but chuckle a little before kissing him softly.

“We’ll do that if we can,” he suggests. “No work, no class. Just a day off.”

Kurt nods. “One way or another.” He wraps his fingers with Puck’s and squeezes. “One hundred ninety-eight, right?”

“One hundred ninety-eight.”

 

By royal decree–well, by Mike’s suggestion and Finn’s agreement–their Tuesday and Thursday rehearsals are now in the auditorium, so it’s a slightly sweaty bunch that walks from the auditorium to the PFLAG meeting. There’s already three crockpots of soup sitting on the food table along with some white bread that looks like it possibly might be homemade.

“Oh, good,” Kurt says, although he’s frowning slightly. “Ms. Pillsbury brought the anonymous question box.” Puck snorts a little. He hadn’t even thought about it since the last meeting.

“Yeah, so _that’s_ gonna be exciting,” Finn says. “I feel like I might need to keep my earbuds ready, you know, in case I need to block something out.”

“It is Tuesday,” Puck says with a smirk.

“Dude. Seriously? Uncool.”

Kurt flicks Puck’s bicep and Puck grabs it, collapsing into a chair. “Ouch!”

“Drama queen,” Finn snorts.

“Odd man out, dude,” Puck responds, pointedly looking at Kurt and Rachel in turn before quirking an eyebrow at Finn.

“What can I say? I have a type.” Finn grins back at Puck.

Mercedes, Tina, Santana, and Brittany all spill into the room at that moment. “Ooh, that soup smells so good!” Tina says. “Is that a Mexican soup?”

“Dude!” Finn and Puck say, simultaneously, while Kurt says, “Oh God!”

“What’s wrong with Mexican?” Santana asks. “I mean, I don’t like it either, but.”

“I like it just fine,” Finn says. “Once. I like it _once_. I don’t like it for two to three meals a day for a week.”

“Carole’s on a Mexican kick. We think it’s practice to disguise the taste of tofu, but who knows?” Kurt shrugs.

Karofsky lumbers in then, Casey practically skipping beside him, a nice change from the previous meeting. He’s got the highbeam smile aimed at Karofsky, who is clearly explaining something in great detail to an enthusiastic audience of one. They take their usual seats without interrupting their conversation.

Rickenbacker, Brown, and a passel of the underclassmen pour into the room in a rush, and when they sit down, Puck notices Karofsky stand up and cross the room to the food table. When he walks back to Casey, he hands Casey one of the two bowls and a spoon, and Casey obviously thanks him. Puck purses his lips to hide his smile and exchanges a glance with Kurt.

Sam, Mike, and Artie all enter together, Mike walking backwards and still talking about how awesome rehearsal was, Artie and Sam just nodding vigorously. Ms. Pillsbury, Coach Beiste, and Mr. Schue walk in together just in front of Lauren and her AV Club friends, and Ms. P closes the door behind them, nodding at Kurt.

“Welcome to PFLAG,” Kurt says, raising his voice over the various conversations taking place. “Let’s get through our introductions quickly so we can move on to the questions.” He shakes the box, papers rustling. “I’m Kurt. I’m gay.” He turns to Finn with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m Finn, and I swear I didn’t put any questions into the question box,” Finn says. “Uh, also, straight ally.”

Rachel launches into her own introduction as soon as Finn’s mouth closes, and they proceed around the circle. When they reach Lauren, she smirks and says, “I’m Lauren, and I’m here to watch Kurt Hummel talk about gay sex.”

“At least you’re honest,” Kurt says dryly in response, while Finn grimaces. Puck just smirks behind his hand.

Dave introduces himself and then turns his head towards Casey with a smile that is gentle and somewhat protective. “I’m Casey,” Casey says. “I’m having a much better week, so I’m glad I’m here, you guys.”

Brown repeats his non-labeling introduction from the previous meeting, and a few others make comments about the questions, among them Santana who says that she doesn’t think there are going to be as many questions about lesbians, because of how woman are smarter to begin with. Puck flips her off almost absently and she returns the gesture with a grin.

They finally get to Puck who just nods. “Puck.”

“All right, well.” Kurt sighs almost melodramatically and opens the box, pulling out the first slip of paper. “‘Do straight guys like their prostrates,’” he stops. “I assume the questioner means ‘prostates.’” He starts over. “‘Do straight guys like their prostates messed with during sex, too?’” He shakes his head a little.

Puck notices Brown elbowing Rickenbacker, who turns a wide-eyed face on him and then elbows him as well.

“Since I’ve never been straight,” Kurt begins, “I can’t really state an answer to this question definitively. However, I would assume that nerves are nerves, gay or straight.” He suddenly beams at them brightly. “Why don’t all you straight boys experiment with your girls and let us know!”

There’s a strangled noise from the corner where the three teachers are sitting, and Puck looks over to see Beiste shaking her head at both Schue and Ms. Pillsbury, who appear to want to speak.

“Next question!” Kurt announces, forced cheer in his tone. He pulls out another piece of paper, unfolds it, and looks at it confusedly for a moment. “Well, this is a very nice drawing, but it’s not actually a question, so I suppose we’ll move on.” He turns the paper towards everyone, showcasing a sketch of a pegasus with the caption “POWER GAY!” in pink and purple letters underneath.

There’s some gentle laughter and Brittany beams at all of them, Santana patting her hand. Kurt reaches back into the box and opens another question. “‘Are all gay guys that l–’ FINN!”

“What?” Finn asks, doing his best to keep his face straight, which is to say, not keeping his face straight at all.

“I can recognize your handwriting, you know. And how would I know? Am I supposed to take a survey?”

Finn shrugs. “I dunno. The internet?”

Kurt sighs heavily and passes the slip of paper to Puck, who looks down at it interestedly. _Are all gay guys that loud during sex or is it just you?_ He tilts his head at Finn. “Is that a plural you or a singular you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Uncool, dude,” Puck says, grinning.

“Tell me about it,” Finn responds rolling his eyes.

“Okay, Snap Crackle and Pop, let’s move on,” Santana comments.

“Here, let me do one,” Finn says, reaching over and fishing around inside the box. “‘Why pink triangles and rainbow flags?’” He looks at Kurt expectantly. “I have no clue, dude.”

“The rainbow flag was created in the late ‘70s,” Kurt answers slowly. “The multiple colors symbolize diversity and inclusiveness. The pink triangle, however, is analogous to the yellow Star of David; the Nazis’ chosen symbol for a group of people they wished to eliminate.”

“So, why do you guys want to use a symbol of something so awful?” Finn asks.

“Reclamation,” Kurt answers with small shrug, and Puck wonders absently and rather morbidly if he would have had to wear a yellow star _and_ a pink triangle. Finn shrugs like he doesn’t really get what Kurt’s talking about, but doesn’t ask any more questions.

Kurt pulls yet another slip of paper out of the box and reads it out loud. “‘You all the time–You’re all the time... talking about safe sex and stuff but how can you give advice about it if you haven’t ever done it?’” Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Charming. Also chock full of assumptions.” He smiles slightly, an edge to it. “The author of this question may want to reference my brother’s question. Aside from that, the question of experience shouldn’t really impact the quality of advice about safe sex recommendations.” He scans the room with both eyebrows raised. “Any further questions?”

Lauren raises her hand. Kurt rolls his eyes slightly but nods to acknowledge her. “So, you’re saying you _have_ done it, then?”

“I’m saying that it’s none of your business,” Kurt says, deceptively mildly. “Do we need to add a line to our introductions where everyone announces their current and past sexual activity?”

“That would make the meetings a little more exciting,” Lauren muses. “But fair enough. Continue.”

“Thank you.” Kurt withdraws a cream-colored square that takes several times to unfold. “‘What do you do if you feel like you just can’t take it any more and like nobody in your family is ever going to be ok with you being gay?’” Kurt sighs a little sadly.

“You keep going,” Santana says firmly before Kurt can answer. “You stare at yourself in the mirror and you think about what you’re going to be doing in a year, in three years, in five years, and you just keep.” She stops and grins suddenly. “You keep marchin’ on.”

There’s a collective chuckle amongst the glee members. Karofsky starts to speak as well. “I think that, well.” He scans the room with his eyes. “Sometimes, you might think your family’s going to freak out, and thankfully, you’re wrong. I was wrong about my dad, for instance. But sometimes you’re right, and that sucks. It really sucks, because having to stay in the closet everywhere or almost everywhere is suffocating. But that’s why we have these meetings, and all of us to talk to, and things like the Trevor Project to call. Because even though the days are long, well. The years are short.”

A soft sniffle comes from the seat next to Karofsky and Casey appears to be studying his shoes intensely. Kurt nods his agreement with Karofsky’s words but doesn’t attempt to add anything to it. Puck thinks about the fact that he and Kurt have been lucky in that regard; his mom and Kurt’s dad and Carole and Finn and Hannah all are as supportive as they could hope to find.

Kurt clears his throat before reading the next one. “‘Is it true that bisexual just means you’re too afraid to admit you’re gay?’” Kurt makes an interesting face as he seems to be considering the question carefully. “This is an interesting question, and touches on some significant issues within the GLBTQ community. Perhaps others have some thoughts?”

Brittany raises her hand. Kurt smiles slightly at her. “Well, I’m not afraid to admit anything, but not because I’m gay. I think that some people just love other people, not matter what parts those other people have. Sometimes I like to kiss boys, but I always like to kiss Santana. I don’t think that makes me gay. I think that just means I love all kinds of people.”

One of the underclassmen speaks up after that. “I mostly like guys. I’ve had a crush on another girl, though. That doesn’t make me gay. Hell, it may not even make me bi.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m barely fifteen, right? What if that’s the only girl I ever have a crush on? Who the hell knows.”

There’s a few chuckles at her words. Kurt’s been looking at the rest of the questions and he speaks up then. “There are a couple of related questions. First of all, ‘What’s pansexual and how is it different from being bi?’” He nods once at the end of the question. “First of all, for those who aren’t familiar with the term, pansexual generally refers to an attraction to people regardless of biological sex _or_ gender identity. The large difference, then, is that pansexual encompasses attraction to those who are not cis-gendered.”

“What’s cis-gendered?” Finn asks.

“Biological sex and gender identity ‘match’, in the simplest terms,” Kurt explains. “You and I are both biological male and identify as men. Someone like...” He pauses for a second. “Chaz Bono! He was born biologically female and identifies as a man. Other people may not identify as a man _or_ a women, from a gender standpoint.”

“Uh, ok. So, what about, like, drag queens?”

“Some men just like to wear women’s clothing periodically.” Kurt grins a little. “In their spare time, maybe.”

“Like a drag hobby? That’s...an interesting hobby.” Finn nods.

“You’d be awesome at it,” Puck offers with a laugh. “C’mon, you could have a cool stage name and everything.”

Finn cocks his head and twists up his face like he’s thinking. “Lady Coco.”

“You’ll be a hit,” Kurt says supportively, nodding. “And now the other related question, all right? ‘What do all the letters mean and if queer means gay why is there a Q in there?’ A good question. Sometimes ‘Q’ refers to ‘questioning’–” He pauses and cuts his eyes at Brown for a second–“And sometimes it refers to the collective group that doesn’t quite fit into the other four letters. Pansexual. Genderqueer. Et cetera.”

Brown tilts his head and nods a little, and Sam pipes up. “We should have had alphabet soup.”

Brittany grins. “It’s delicious in here!” There’s another ripple of laughter following her statement.

“Oh, here’s a fun one. Brand recommendations! ‘What’s the best brand of condom and lube for butt sex?’ I sincerely hope that you call it ‘vaginal sex’ and not ‘normal sex.’” Kurt’s smile is sharp again. “And, actually, within certain parameters, there’s not a ‘best’ brand for everyone. Each couple needs to find their own ‘best.’ As I said previously, a thicker lubrication is probably what you want to look for.” He shrugs, and Puck’s impressed at how calmly he answered the question–all of the questions, really.

Kurt reaches in the box yet again and unfolds a piece of paper, raising his eyebrows slightly as he scans it. “All right. ‘How _do_ you decide who tops and who bottoms?’ An interesting question.” He tilts his head a little. “Well, I feel like I should first say that there are definitely stereotypes and assumptions regarding topping and bottoming, but that those should not be the determining factor.” Puck shifts a little in his seat and detects a tiny edge to Kurt’s voice. It’s not like it’s anyone’s business but theirs, but it _is_ sort of irritating that everyone sees them as so stereotypical, apparently. “Additionally, I think there’s a view that the roles are rigid, rather than acknowledging that in most couples there’s a degree of versatility.”

Casey raises his hand, blushing a little as he does so. Kurt raises his eyebrows slightly and nods encouragingly. “So, you don’t have to just, you know, just pick _one_ and, um, go with it?”

Kurt shakes his head, and Puck can tell he’s trying not to grin. “No. In fact, you could argue that we’re much less limited than straight boys.” He sounds as though he’s expressing pity for the straight boys, and there’s scattered laughter and a few half-hearted protests. Casey looks oddly pleased with the answer, which doesn’t stop him from blushing even more furiously.

“To speak to the larger question of preferences, I think that’s something that generally a couple is going to figure out together–or at the very least, an individual will discover through, um. Other activities.”

“OK!” Finn squawks. “Let’s do another one!” He reaches across Kurt and rifles through the box. “‘What does being in love feel like and how do you know if it’s love or just you want sex?’” Finn reads, making his deep-thinking face. “That’s a really good question. I mean, I think, like, for me _personally_ , if you try looking at it like sex isn’t an option, and you still really want to be with that person, maybe _that’s_ love?” He shrugs. “Anybody else have thoughts on that?”

“If you want spend time with them when you aren’t both naked, that’s a good sign,” Puck offers with a shrug.

“Have you _ever_ just wanted to spend time with someone without at least the prospect of getting naked?” Lauren snorts.

Puck stares at her for a second. “Yes.”

She stares back and then her eyes dart quickly over to Kurt and then back to Puck. “Uh huh,” she says, and nods a little. “Well, awesome.”

“Sex and love really aren’t related,” Santana offers. “I mean, sure, if you love someone, you probably want to have sex with them, but just having sex? Plenty of people do that without love. And plenty of people in this room, anyway, love without having sex.”

“Sex is like frosting. Love is like cake. Both are nice, but when you put one on the other one, it’s even better,” Brittany says. “So I think they’re related. I mean, I like cake. I like frosting, too, but one time I ate a whole can of it and then I threw up rainbows.” She looks at Santana. “It was rainbow sprinkles frosting,” she explains.

“That’s actually an excellent simile, Brittany,” Kurt remarks as he pulls out an unfolded strip of paper. “All right, this is an interesting one. ‘Can gays and lesbians adopt kids?’ The answer is–maybe.”

“Why maybe?” one of the underclassmen asks.

“Laws differ by state. Some states explicitly allow same-sex couples to adopt. New York is one of them, as is most of New England. In other states, the law or court rulings are explicit that same-sex couple adoptions are not allowed. Ohio is one of _those_ states.”

“So if we want to adopt kids, we have to move?” the same underclassman asks.

“At least temporarily, yes,” Rachel interjects. “My dads moved out of state until after I was legally both of theirs.”

“I didn’t know that,” Finn says, putting his arm around Rachel. “It sucks they had to do that.”

Rachel nods. “Luckily they had the resources to do so, but that’s not always the case, obviously.”

“Next question. ‘What about the Bible?’” Kurt purses his lips. “Well, I don’t think anyone who asks this as a serious questions wants my opinion on it.” He looks around the room inquisitively. “Anyone able to answer this respectfully?”

Sam raises his hand tentatively. “I don’t know a lot about it, but I do go to church and all.” He shrugs. “There are people who interpret every part of the Bible literally, but the thing is, then the Bible ends up contradicting itself. The way I’ve heard it explained is that most of the specific admonishments from Paul were written to specific congregations in specific cities in a specific point in time. We live in a totally different set of circumstances.” He stops and grins. “Besides, God makes no mistakes, right?”

“The Old Testament is pretty blatant, though,” one of the underclassmen says. “What about that?”

“Well, most _Jews_ don’t hold to that interpretation any more,” Puck points out. “The law modifies with medical and other discoveries. The APA says homosexuality isn’t a mental illness, so... the law changes.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yes, it is,” Rachel agrees with a smile.

“Any further questions on this topic?” Kurt asks, and when no one responds, he withdraws another piece of paper. “‘Do gays sleep with more people? How about bisexuals?’ Well, that’s certainly a perception many people have. And of course you will meet some people who identify as GBLTQ that sleep with more people than some straight people, but the reverse is true as well.”

“So it depends on the individual, not his or her sexuality?”

“Precisely.”

“Are there many questions left?”

“Just three. ‘How many gay people are there?’ Statistically speaking, estimates range from 2.5% of the population to 10% of the population. In other words, at a minimum, statistically, there should be about fifty people at McKinley that self-identify as GLBTQ. Since there are multiple straight allies here, obviously not everyone is at our meetings, even.”

“That’s a lot,” Mike says, looking a little surprised. “I mean, that’s surprising, somehow.”

Kurt grins. “What can I say? We’re everywhere.” He reads the second to last question, then. “‘How do you let another guy know if you have a thing for him but don’t know if he’s gay or not?’”

“You could, I dunno, _ask_?” Finn suggests. “Might save you both a lot of drama.”

“Shut up,” Kurt says mildly, poking Finn in the side. “It’s a great way to gain a sibling.”

“You know that sounds kinda creepy without the back story, dude,” Finn says.

“Yes, people tell me regularly how creepy I am.” Kurt turns towards the rest of the room. “Finn has a point, creepy-or-not back story notwithstanding. Obviously, asking requires that the person doing the asking be out, at least somewhat.”

There’s a little bit of laughter as Kurt unfolds the last piece of paper. “Last question. ‘How did you guys realize you were gay? Did you just wake up one day and think “I don’t like boob anymore, I like dick”? Did something happen to make you gay?’” Kurt sighs.

“That’s kind of offensive,” Brown snorts. “Don’t people know it’s not like that?”

“People are so ignorant,” Finn says, scowling.

“Perhaps the questioner is afraid that he or she will suddenly become gay, but I can assure you that I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that being the case. It’s something that just _happens_. We’re just born this way.” He shrugs.

“That’s absolutely right,” Rachel nods, and Puck tunes out the rest of what she’s saying to think about the question. Yeah, he totally just woke up in June and decided that he was gay... yeah, no. Stupid question.

“...so that’s all the questions,” Kurt says, his voice intruding on Puck’s thoughts. “I guess we could leave the box in Ms. Pillsbury’s office in case any other questions arise.”

“Thanks, dude,” Karofsky says. “Some of those were kind of personal, but I think we all appreciate it.”

“Oh, well. You’re welcome,” Kurt nods. “We’ll see everyone here in two weeks. Thanks, Taylor, for the soup.”

“No problem,” one of the freshmen says, nodding his head.

Everyone stands up and stretches, various side conversations springing up as they leave the room and toss out their trash. Puck just watches for a minute, some people hurrying out and others taking their time. Some seem to deliberately wait for the warning bell to ring before scurrying out. Karofsky and Casey walk out together, seemingly renewing their conversation from before the meeting. When the last person leaves, Puck turns back to Kurt. “That was... interesting.”

“Wasn’t it?” Kurt rolls his eyes. “The point was to ask questions, not to try to find out what I’ve done or not done. I thought, anyway.”

“Yeah, well.” Puck shrugs. “Fuckers.”

“Charming.” Kurt smirks and nods his agreement, though. “More in the exciting world of music theory?”

“You know it,” Puck agrees as they walk down the hall. “There’s probably a punchline waiting to happen, something about music and your French plays, but I don’t know what it is.”

Kurt laughs. “Probably!”

They stop inside the choir room and Puck purses his lips. “While I’m thinking about it. The...” He gestures, feeling like he’s suddenly taking on even more things like Kurt. “Anxiety thing.”

“What about it?” Kurt says gently.

“What do... what do I do?”

“Well. I suppose the first step might be talking to Ms. Pillsbury? You could see if she’s willing to stay and talk to you after glee on Thursday afternoon or something.”

Puck thinks about it for a moment. It makes a certain amount of sense, and he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I should go,” Kurt says, glancing at the clock on the wall. He steps closer for a brief moment, arms around Puck’s neck and lips pressed to Puck’s cheek. “Be good.”

“I’m always good,” Puck answers after a moment, watching Kurt disappear out the door, his fingers lingering for a moment longer on the doorframe.

 

“You know what I hate?” Puck announces as he climbs into the Nav later. “Non-chord tones.”

“Okay.” Kurt shrugs. “They sound perfectly hate-able.”

Puck grins a little in spite of his irritation with said non-chord tones. “They are. Trust me.”

“I have bad news, though.”

“Oh?”

“Dad said Danny’s working late tonight instead of him. Danny needs the extra hours.” Kurt pauses to grin. “He’s saving up to buy his girlfriend an engagement ring _finally_.”

“Finally?”

“They’ve been together since their senior year of high school, but Tricia wanted to get her Master’s and teach at UNOH or OSU-Lima, and then Tricia’s mom got sick a couple of years ago, so they sort of put everything on hold.” Kurt shrugs. “It’s sweet. Danny’s a good guy, really.”

“Yeah, he seemed pretty cool,” Puck comments, nodding. “Sucks about your dad coming home early, though.”

“Well, we still have an hour or two at least.” Kurt shrugs. “And Carole will still be out tonight, so that rules out a Mexican dinner.”

Puck laughs. “Good point.”

They’re a little hurried and a little more cautious than usual on Tuesday, and Kurt makes the decision that they should forgo a shower, because Burt probably wouldn’t be as understanding about matching freshly-showered boys, much less the small possibility of him coming home while they are still in the shower.

Puck suggests that they go down to the kitchen before Burt can arrive, in fact, and they start fixing dinner, careful to avoid beans, rice, cumin, and chili pepper in their list of allowed ingredients.

They’ve just gotten the dish into the oven when Puck hears the garage door rumble, followed by Burt’s footsteps a moment later.

“Hey, boys,” Burt says, entering the kitchen. “That’s not more Mexican, is it?”

“No way,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “Italian.” He crosses the room and gives Burt a quick hug. “How was work? Anything interesting for me tomorrow?”

“Just a realignment, nothing exciting. Sorry, kid,” Burt answers, patting Kurt on the shoulder. “Can’t win ‘em all.”

“Now’s the time,” Kurt says solemnly to Puck. “We need a jackhammer.”

Puck grins. “Maybe a backhoe, too.”

“That’s great and all, boys, but doesn’t help me too much if I have to turn around and use the money from fixing those cars to bail you two out,” Burt says, raising an eyebrow. “And yeah, Puck, I’d cover your bail, too, if Kurt talked you into it. He’s convincing that way.”

“He is,” Puck nods, smirking in Kurt’s direction. “Except he had some theory about labeling it corporate espionage, so we’d have all charges dropped.” His smirk slides into a grin as he watches Kurt.

“Corporations are clearly held up as the most important thing in this country,” Kurt protests. “It’s a clear way out of trouble.” He grins at Burt. “Alternatively, we could just drain some oil pans.” Kurt reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a bag of salad mix, tossing it to Puck.

“I think I like that plan better,” Burt says.

“That sounds more time-consuming,” Puck says, frowning sightly as he opens the bag and dumps the salad mix into a bowl. “Then again, as I tell Kurt, he usually loses me at the make and model.”

“Shameful.” Burt shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Kurt, you couldn’t find you a boy with an interest in cars?”

“And have to compete over who gets to use the tools?” Kurt snorts. “Why would I want to do that?” He grins at Puck and kisses his cheek. “Besides, then Puck’d get grease all over the guitar strings. I’m sure that’s bad for the guitar.”

“Probably,” Puck agrees, turning his head and brushing his lips over Kurt’s. “At least I don’t pretend to know more than I do, though.”

“Sometimes you two make too much sense,” Burt says, with a shake of his head. “It’s almost like you’ve thought this out or something.”

“It’s this new thing they’re trying at school,” Kurt nods. “Trying to make us think.” He shudders in a very exaggerated way. “It’s awful, Dad.”

“Shoulda kept you at Dalton, if that’s how public schools are working these days.”

Kurt makes a face. “Ugh. So you prefer a soulless automoton for a son?”

“I thought that was Vocal Adrenaline?”

“Warblers, Vocal Adrenaline, really, they all start to blend together.”

“The blazers were _very_ snazzy,” Burt suggests. “And hey, no thinking? Sounds like it’d be a nice break.”

“No common sense, either,” Kurt points out. “Do you know how many of them thought the way to change a tire was to call AAA?”

“Hey, I can at least change my own tires,” Puck chimes in. “Even Artie can change a tire.”

“Good to know you’ve got life skills. Change a tire and cook dinner? Sounds like you’re set,” Burt chuckles.

“I can balance a checkbook, too,” Puck says with a grin.

“Renaissance man, you,” Kurt laughs, nudging his hip against Puck’s as he stirs together some kind of salad dressing.

“I have a feeling Kurt might have a stroke if he had to balance a checkbook,” Burt says. “‘All those numbers, dad!’” He winks at Kurt.

“I was sadly born too late for the ‘Math is hard’ Barbie,” Kurt agrees, pouting slightly. “All those ideas about _budgets_.” He shakes his head.

“Didn’t you start consumer math this semester?” Puck asks, grinning. “How’re you going to survive that?”

“I don’t know!”

“Eh, you’ll manage it,” Burt says. “I got faith in you.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says ruefully as the timer on the oven goes off. “Oh, there’s our dinner.”

“Mexican-free,” Puck adds.

“Yeah, Dad, did Carole get a new cookbook or something?”

“I don’t think so,” Burt says. “Why, you notice the Mexican kick, too, eh?”

“Yes.” Kurt nods fervently. “It’s getting a little odd.”

“I’ve got no idea what’s going on with her. She never really even liked Mexican that much.”

“We wondered if she was planning on substituting tofu in the recipes later, without telling you,” Kurt admits, serving the pasta onto the plates before handing one to Puck and carrying the other two to the table.

“She hadn’t mentioned it. In fact, I don’t think she even bought tofu last time she went to the store,” Burt says, scratching the back of his head. “Just more Mexican stuff. She’s got some kinda huge pepper in there now, says she’s gonna stuff it with something.”

“I think I’ll volunteer to cook on Friday,” Kurt says quickly.

“Or we could order Chinese or something?” Burt asks, hopefully. “Nothing with tomatoes or beans.”

“At least the rice is different with Chinese,” Puck agrees, nodding.

“And I promise I’ll get shrimp or chicken,” Burt says, crossing his heart with his hand. “I won’t even try to sneak an order of Mu Shu Pork.”

“No, that’s Puck’s job,” Kurt agrees, sitting down.

“Hey, it’s good stuff,” Puck defends himself, also taking a seat.

“This looks deliciously non-Mexican. Thanks, guys.”

 

"I just got the weirdest look," Santana announces as she strides into the choir room at the start of fourth period the next day. "And that's saying something, considering we all get weird looks, all the time." There's a few laughs. "Did someone take video of us on Saturday or something?"

"Oh, god," Kurt groans. "Stop with your horrible speculations, Satan."

"Why would anyone _want_ to do that?" Puck points out. "There are more interesting things to video."

"Blackmail?" Santana suggests.

"So they can sell it to TMZ when we're all famous," Rachel counters.

"I sense a vibration," Puck says, sotto voce, to Kurt, who snorts and smacks him lightly on the thigh. "Did someone say something?"

"Don't bring physics into this."

"Sound's important, right?" Puck raises his eyebrows, then frowns and shakes his head. "No, not like that."

"Exactly." Kurt thumps his physics textbook aggravatedly. "If I ever use this in college or life, remind me that I doubted the possibility."

"You're going to make Puck hunt you down to remind you?" Mike asks with a laugh.

Puck exchanges a quick look with Kurt at that, both sets of their eyes a little wide. Kurt recovers first. "Absolutely."

"I'm sure it'll be easy to find him," Puck adds. "Everyone will know who he is, and all."

“Good point,” Tina agrees, grinning. “The Infamous Kurt Hummel.”

“Hey! I think ‘famous’ is fine.”

Tina laughs. “You’ll be famous to the rest of the world, but the eleven of us? We’ll know the truth.”

 

Puck looks up, startled, when Kurt walks into Starbucks around 7:30 later that night. “What’s going on?”

“Everyone’s getting together at Pat’s later. Ostensibly, I’m ‘picking you up’ when you’re done. Finn dropped me off, obviously. But–Finn, Sam, and David all got official paperwork in the mail today.”

“Ohhh,” Puck nods. “Good news?”

Kurt grins. “Mmmhmm. Let’s just say we can pull the poor hidden Bucky out from the back of the Nav.”

“At last! Poor guy was going to freeze,” Puck laughs.

Puck’s a little sloppy with his closing tasks, but he figures since he’s the one opening, no one else is going to even know, much less care. When they get to Pat’s a little after nine, the parking lot is packed and it takes a few minutes to squeeze through the crowd.

“Dudes, you’re finally here!” Finn shouts. He’s sitting in a grouping of tables with the football team, most of the Cheerios, and all of glee, and looks for all the world like a kid about to open presents at his birthday party. Sam and Karofsky look similarly jubilant, though perhaps not quite as giddy as Finn.

“Funny, they wouldn’t let close early in celebration,” Puck shoots back, grinning. “I hear you guys all have some good news?”

“So, guess who’s gonna be a Badger?” Finn asks, his face contorting through a series of smiles and excited twitches.

“Whomever it is, he might want this,” Kurt says, pulling the Bucky out from behind his back and tossing him towards Finn.

“Holy shit, Bucky!” Finn says, catching the stuffed Badger and holding him aloft. “Bucky, everybody!” He looks back at Kurt. “How’d you know?”

Kurt shrugs. “I think this is the moment where I say, ‘I told you so.’”

“You can say it all you want, man,” Finn grins. “I’m glad to hear it. Hey, and I already heard from Jamie and Doug, the big dude, remember? Doug’s got a full ride and Jamie’s getting a partial!”

“That’s great! And you two?” Kurt addresses Karofsky and Sam.

“LSU!” Sam grins.

“Ramblin’ wreck from Georgia Tech,” Karofsky nods.

“A helluva engineer!” Casey pipes up from next to Karofsky, where Puck can’t see him. More gay ninjas.

“Awesome, dudes,” Puck nods.

“Full rides,” Mercedes adds from her spot underneath Sam’s arm. “Lucky guys.”

“‘I’m gonna play football!’” Finn makes Bucky the Badger say in a high pitch voice, dancing him across the table. Rachel giggles at Finn’s antics, one finger tracing down Bucky’s leg.

“Where did you get this, Kurt?”

“Yeah, did you get it back in Wisconsin?” Finn asks.

“I did not,” Kurt answers, grabbing the back of a vacated seat and gesturing for Puck to sit down. “I found it over winter break.”

“Ooooh,” Finn says, lowering his voice. “When you were you-know-where?”

“Yeah, when he was apprenticing with Voldemort,” Puck says solemnly, and it’s taking everything Puck has not to just pull Kurt down into his lap.

“Huh?” Finn looks puzzled. “What about Voldemort? I was talking about _Chicago_.” He whispers the last word.

“Joke, Finn,” Kurt answers calmly.

“Oh, ok.” Finn holds up his Bucky. “Badger five?”

Puck rolls his eyes but high-fives the stuffed badger. “At least you can keep wearing red and have the right color on, right?”

“Oh, hey, that’s convenient!” Finn says. “Mom and Burt won’t even have to buy new fan stuff. They can just wear the red shirts they already have!”

Kurt laughs. “You know Carole’s probably online right now buying Wisconsin shirts and a hat for Dad. Not to mention looking up new Mexican recipes.”

“O-freaking-lé,” Finn groans.

Puck snorts. “Just be glad there’s not Badger-themed Mexican food, dude. Or, wait. Would _red_ beans and rice qualify?”

“Duuude.”

Puck laughs as Kurt pivots slightly. “I’m going to get something to eat. Puck, you want anything?”

“Ice cream or a doughnut, either way,” Puck shrugs and Kurt nods before walking off.

“He might get you something you hate,” Sam laughs, overhearing the last part of the conversation.

“Nah,” Puck shakes his head. “For starters, that would require me to actually _hate_ something here rather than just not like it as well,” he adds, chuckling.

“Good point.”

Kurt returns after just a few more moments, chewing on a doughnut and setting a cup of chocolate ice cream with chocolate sprinkles down in front of Puck. “Mmm, thanks.”

“Can’t go wrong with chocolate for you, I figure,” Kurt says lightly, still standing amongst all the occupied chairs.

“You need a seat?” Finn asks Kurt. “You can just sit on Puck, you know, in exchange for getting him ice cream.”

“I might crush him with my extreme bulk,” Kurt retorts, but it provides the excuse they needed, and he sinks onto Puck’s legs even as he’s speaking.

Rachel laughs at Kurt’s words. “I think he’ll survive, Kurt.”

“I don’t know,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Kurt is so large. Also overweight.” He pokes Kurt’s side and laughs as Kurt yelps in outrage.

Finn rolls his eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Says the guy who made his stuffed badger give me a high five,” Puck points out, still chuckling.

“It’s a _victory_ badger,” Finn responds, shaking his head like he’s shocked Puck doesn’t understand. “Of course it gets high fives.”

“I don’t think Mannes even _has_ a mascot.”

“I already know which bar in the City is the one for Wisconsin games,” Kurt announces. “It’s on the Upper East Side.”

“Wow, you planned ahead,” Finn says. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, man. That’s really awesome.”

“Like I said,” Kurt shrugs. “I told you so.”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you’re the smart one.”

“Does that make Finn the pretty one?” Puck asks.

Finn snorts. “Obviously, dude. I mean, _look_ at me. I’m gorgeous.” He pretends to flip his hair around and primp.

Kurt giggles and falls back against Puck’s chest as Puck laughs as well. “You just need one of those wigs Schue had sophomore year, dude.”

“I’m thinking of going blond,” Finn says. “What do you think?”

“They do say blonds have more fun,” Kurt says. “Sam, is it true?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sam laughs. “It’s twenty-four hours of fun, every day.”

“There you go,” Puck nods.

“My day has twenty-six hours of fun,” Brittany interjects.

“That could explain why blonds have _more_ fun.”

 

"I'm quite excited for the duet competition today and tomorrow!" Rachel announces before she's even out of her seat at the end of English on Thursday morning. "I don't know what the prize is, but I'm sure it'll be nice."

"Let me guess," Puck says with a raise of his eyebrows. "You and Finn are going to go first."

"I certainly hope so!" Rachel beams. "I think everyone will be surprised at our selection."

"'Jackson'? Yeah, it's not your usual style."

"Finn told you?" Rachel looks up at Puck, eyes wide. "Oh no! I was hoping we'd be able to surprise everyone."

"You must have forgotten to mention that to Finn," Puck points out. "Either that, or he figured it didn't apply to Kurt and I."

"That's likely," Rachel acknowledges with a little laugh. "Do you know what we're doing this evening with the others? Mike mentioned it as we were leaving Pat's last night." She frowns a little. "You and Kurt left late."

"Well, didn't really want anyone to see me driving," Puck smirks. "And Brittany suggested bowling, this morning in history."

"Ooh, that would be fun." Rachel nods as they reach the auditorium. "We should definitely do that. Seven-thirty again?"

"I think so."

 

Schue is practically bouncing when he enters the choir room just as the final bell of the day rings, and Puck’s absently glad that today wasn’t one of the days that Kurt arrived early. Puck nods a greeting to Schue and takes a seat in the back row.

“I think you guys are going to be excited about the prize,” Schue announces. “And I am excited to see what pairings you all chose and what songs.” He smiles and looks around the room. “Who’d like to go first?”

“We would, Mr. Schue!” Rachel says brightly, tugging on Finn’s hand.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Finn says, allowing himself to be tugged.

“We’re going to do a song made famous by the incomparable duo of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash,” Rachel continues, almost as if Finn hadn’t spoken. “‘Jackson.’” She startles slightly. “Oh, Puck, would you...?”

Puck shrugs. “Sure.”

“Thanks!” Rachel says quickly, and as soon as Puck begins, they launch into the song.

 _We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout,  
We've been talkin' 'bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out.  
I'm goin' to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around,  
Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson,  
Look out Jackson town._

 _Well, go on down to Jackson; go ahead and wreck your health.  
Go play your hand you big-talkin' man, make a big fool of yourself,  
You're goin' to Jackson; go comb your hair!  
Honey, I'm gonna snowball Jackson.  
See if I care._

If Puck’s being honest–and why not be honest?–he does think that he himself does a better job with Johnny Cash than Finn, but Finn’s rendition is still good. Rachel’s voice isn’t as well suited for June Carter Cash’s songs, though she still does a nice job. Everyone applauds nicely and Schue smiles at them as Mercedes and Sam swap places with Rachel and Finn.

“We decided on ‘It Takes Two,’” Mercedes announces, and Brad and the jazz band launch into the music.

 _One can have a dream, baby  
Two can make that dream so real  
One can talk about bein' in love  
Two can say how it really feels  
One can wish upon a star  
Two can make that wish come true, yeah  
One can stand alone in the dark  
Two can make the light shine through_

 _It takes two, baby  
It takes two, baby  
Me and you, just takes two_

The two of them definitely put on a little bit of a show, getting into the performance with big grins.

“Nice job, guys. We have time for one more pair today, I think,” Schue says.

“We can go, Mr. Schue,” Artie says, raising his hand. He and Quinn go up to the front of the room, and after a quick conversation with Brad, they start singing.

 _You say either and I say either, You say neither and I say neither  
Either, either Neither, neither, Let's call the whole thing off._

 _You like potato and I like potahto, You like tomato and I like tomahto  
Potato, potahto, Tomato, tomahto, Let's call the whole thing off_

The performance is technically flawless, but Puck doesn’t find it all that inspiring, though he freely admits that’s probably because Quinn’s one of the two people singing.

“Wow,” Schue says after they finish. “Those of you going tomorrow, the bar has been set high! I already don’t know how I’m going to pick a winning duo!” He smiles. “Have a great afternoon, guys.”

Puck strums on his guitar for a moment in a deliberate attempt to be casual, watching Schue and the rest of the club leave the room, except for Kurt, who stands and then walks up to drop into the seat next to Puck. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches for Puck’s hand, stopping him from strumming any more, and squeezes Puck’s fingers gently.

Puck smiles slightly and they sit there for a long moment before Puck exhales heavily. “I should. I guess.”

Kurt nods. “I’ll wait here.”

“Okay.” Puck puts his guitar down and stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. He exchanges a brief half-smile with Kurt and heads out the door, walking slowly towards Ms. Pillsbury’s office. He doesn’t really want to do this, but he’s not so dumb as to ignore the fact that he _needs_ to do it. He knocks on the doorframe hesitantly, and Ms. P looks up with a smile.

“Noah, there you are. Come in, sit down.” Puck walks inside and shuts the door behind him before taking one of the two chairs in front of Ms. Pillsbury’s desk. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Puck chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I think–well, someone else pointed it out, but I agree with him, so, yeah, I think I have um. An anxiety disorder?”

Ms. Pillsbury’s face is so comedic that Puck wants to laugh. First she looks startled, then disbelieving, then sort of dumbfounded, before her face settles back into a professional, calm look. “What makes you think that, Noah?”

“Apparently all this sh–stuff, sorry–that I thought was normal isn’t.” Puck shifts uncomfortably. “Um. So when I was reading the diagnosis list or whatever.”

“The diagnostic criteria?”

“Yeah, that. It was like a checklist of my brain.”

“Well.” Ms. Pillsbury turns to the side and rifles through a drawer, then hands Puck a pamphlet that says “So You Worry!” on the front. “I can certainly make an appointment for you with the psychiatric practice in town; they would be the best ones to determine a course of action.” She pauses. “Do you have insurance, or do I need to–”

“No, I got it.” Puck pulls out his wallet and withdraws the plastic card that came in the mail just a few days earlier. “I guess I need to know if they take this one, though.”

“Right, right,” she nods. “Let me just make a quick call. Would around this time work well for an appointment? I know you work some afternoons.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Puck shrugs and fiddles with his phone while Ms. Pillsbury dials a number and tells the person on the other end a bunch of stuff. Finally, she hangs up, writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to Puck, along with the insurance card.

“It’s all set up, two weeks from today at 4:30, so you shouldn’t have to miss glee rehearsal.” She smiles. “They do take your insurance, so there will be a $25 co-pay that day. Good luck, Noah.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Puck nods, putting both items in his wallet and standing. “See you, Ms. P.”

“Have a good evening!”

Puck trudges back to the choir room, thinking, and when he arrives, Kurt just takes his hand and holds it silently as they walk out the door. “Well. She made an appointment for me with a psychiatrist, in two weeks,” Puck says finally, and Kurt nods.

“Okay.” The parking lot is deserted, and Kurt slides his arm around Puck as they walk out to the Nav. “We’re all right, baby.”

“Yeah,” Puck agrees. “We are.”


	4. Full Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course he's Dave's first call.

Most college decisions are a matter of signing onto a website and scrolling down, but football recruiting is still old-fashioned, Dave guesses, because it all boils down to envelopes and paper, delivered by the postal service. Dave’s been checking the mail every afternoon with equal parts dread and anticipation–well, a little more dread, probably, but he tells himself it’s anticipation. Getting in, getting on the team, getting a scholarship: a lot of variables have to be right.

When he sees the Georgia Tech logo in the corner of an envelope, David exhales shakily, then rips up the flap. Folded papers spill onto the table, and Dave snatches up the top one, pressing it flat with his palms and then staring at it.

“Holy shit,” Dave says out loud, the words echoing in the otherwise empty house. “Holy fucking shit.” He digs into his pocket, pulling out his phone, because that’s just what he’s supposed to do, right? Call people? Tell them? He’s halfway through the sequence of unlocking his phone and going to speed dial when he realizes that he’s not even sure _who_ he’s calling first.

Yeah, his dad will want to know, but his dad’s also probably in a meeting or with a client or in a meeting with a client, and he’ll be just as excited at dinner. The other guys on the team; hopefully Hudson and Evans have good news, too, and that’s great, he’ll call them later. Without even finishing his internal ramblings, his thumb presses down on Casey’s number and he brings the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring.

Casey picks up after the fourth ring, right before the phone goes to voice mail. He sounds out of breath; Dave realizes Casey may have run from somewhere else to get to the phone. “David?” Casey says. “Hi!”

“Hey, Case.” Dave’s voice is pretty much jubilant, and he tries to tone it down, but he just can’t help it.

“Hi! Hey!” Casey says. “What’s going on? You sound happy!”

“I finally heard from GT.”

“You did?” Casey breathes. “What’d you _hear_?” Even without knowing David’s news, he already sounds almost as excited as Dave does.

“Full ride,” Dave admits. “I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, David, wow!” Casey squeaks. “Oh, wow, that’s amazing, wow!” He makes a little high pitched noise of happiness. “Ohmigod, I’m so proud of you!” There’s a thumping, shuffling sound.

“I think I’m in shock.” Dave shakes his head. “Oh, shit! I guess I should call Coach. I didn’t even think about that.” He laughs. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

Casey giggles. “Just be excited? Oh, what’d your dad say?”

“I haven’t called him yet!”

“What’d the other guys on the team say?”

“Um. Haven’t talked to them either. I just got home like, five minutes ago.”

Dave can hear Casey’s breath catch. “And...and you called _me_?” he says, like he’s not sure he’s understanding everything properly.

“Yeah,” Dave answers, and there’s an unspoken ‘of course’ or ‘obviously’ or something that he can’t quite put a finger on, even though it’s his own voice.

“Oh,” Casey whispers. “Wow. Um, you should call Coach! She’s gonna be so excited and proud of you! Oh, David, I’m _so_ proud of you!” The thumping noise repeats itself. It almost sounds, well, exactly like some small person hopping up and down.

“Thanks, Case.” Dave laughs. “Yeah, I guess I should. God, I just like–I can’t believe it!”

“I can believe it,” Casey say, firmly. “Of course you got in. You’re just, I mean, of _course_ they want you. You know, to play football. For them.”

“I really can’t believe it,” Dave repeats, laughing. “Okay. I’m going to call Coach, I guess. And. Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Casey says, and Dave can hear Casey’s smile through the phone. “Any time. I’m so proud of you. Coach’ll be, too!”

“Thanks, Case. Bye.”

“Bye, David.”

 

 _Evry1 @ Pats 2nite. Pck u up @ 7:30_

Casey reads the text and bounces in place a little. No matter how many time he hangs out with David, it never stops being exciting when David wants to hang out with him. He’s already pawing through his drawer for a clean shirt when he remember that he needs to run this by his dad first. Casey takes a deep breath and heads into the living room.

“Hey, dad?” he calls out softly. His dad worked a short day today, and Casey knows he needs to be extra careful when his dad’s home early, especially when he sees the cluster of empties on the side table.

“Yeah, whatcha need?” He rasps, not looking away from the television, which is playing the latest terrorist threat from the Middle East.

“Um, some of the guys are going out tonight. The football team guys. David and them.” Casey focuses on keeping any emotion out of his voice, on keeping his tone even and not letting any squeaks or other unacceptable sounds slip out.

“You invited?” He snorts a little, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Can you believe this? Fuckin’ terrorists.”

“Yeah, it’s awful,” Casey says. “Those terrorists. And, um, yeah, David said he’d pick me up. If it’s okay with you, I mean. At seven thirty.”

“I like that Karofsky boy.” There’s another long pause while he jabs the lit cigarette in the direction of the talking head and the moving ticker underneath him. “I hope you don’t bug that kid too much with your _enthusiasm_.”

Casey flinches, because he hopes that, too. “I don’t think I do. I mean, I hope I don’t, either. He’s the one who asked me if I wanted to go, dad. I didn’t ask him. I don’t bother him with stuff. He’s busy and all that. With football and things.” Casey shifts nervously from foot to foot, twisting a piece of his hair and concentrating on not mumbling or talking too fast or any of the other things his dad hates.

“Yeah, all right. Don’t get in too late, your mother doesn’t need to worry about trying to get your lazy ass out of bed for school in the morning.”

“No, dad, I won’t. I won’t give her any trouble, I promise,” Casey says. “Thanks for letting me go.” He feels his shoulders curving forward, hates how he can’t help but hunch in response to his dad’s words. There’s no further response from his dad, whose attention is once more completely focused on the bottle on the table, the cigarette in his hand, and the spinning cube in the corner of the television screen.

Casey walks back to his room as quietly as possible, but not before slipping one of his dad’s packs of cigarettes into his pocket as he passes it on the hall table. First he’ll take care of _that_ , then he’ll get dressed. It’s cold and he was going to wear long sleeves anyway.

 

Dave knocks on Casey’s door right at 7:30, and Casey opens it so quickly that he must have been right there waiting.

“Hi!” Casey says. Casey looks kind of withdrawn and excited at the same time, but steps outside quickly, pulling the door closed behind him. He makes a little movement in Dave’s direction and then seems to startle and stop himself, settling for a big grin. “So, congratulations again!”

“Thanks,” Dave replies with a grin, and they walk down the short walk to Dave’s truck, which he left running. “So Hudson and Evans both got full rides, too. I think most of the school’s celebrating.”

“That’s so _awesome_!” Casey says, climbing into Dave’s truck. “I’m so happy for you guys. You and Finn definitely deserve it!” The color returns to his face a little as Dave starts to pull away from Casey’s house.

“I think I’m still in shock. Dad started talking about bumper stickers.”

“I bet he’s so excited! That’s a good school.” Casey bounces a little in his seat. “I think you’ll look awesome in gold. When you’re on the team, you know. And white.”

Dave laughs. “Yeah, I could do a lot worse with uniforms, that’s for sure. I just–you know they say like half of the class even goes to college? And a much smaller percentage leave the state. How did _I_ get to be one of them?”

Casey looks at Dave like he’s confused, his little eyebrows knit together. “Why wouldn’t you be one of them, David? You’re _smart_! I mean, they’d probably want you even if you didn’t play football, and you’re really good at football, so.” Casey’s cheeks pink up as he talks. “Of course you’re one of them.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ thinks they’ll be one of the lucky ones, though.” Dave laughs. “Except maybe Kurt and Rachel.” They pull into the lot at Pat’s and Dave turns off the truck, climbing out in the grey slush. “You’d think they could shovel the lot, it hasn’t snowed in a few days.”

“I _hate_ dirty snow,” Casey says, wrinkling his nose as his feet slide towards the ground from the passenger seat. The bottoms of his shoes make a wet smack in the gritty snow. “I just want to live some place _warm_ some day, but I probably won’t be one of the lucky ones, either.”

“Your grades are good enough,” Dave points out, frowning at the sneakers on Casey’s feet. “Forgot your boots again?”

“Yeah, I think I must have stuck them somewhere,” Casey says, giving Dave a tiny smile. “I can’t find them. You know how I am with stuff like that, I forget things all the time.”

Dave continues to frown. “Let me know if you can’t find them in another day or two, okay?”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” Casey answers. “I’ll find them. I always do, eventually.”

“If you’re sure.” Dave walks into Pat’s then, taking in the jubilant atmosphere. There’s a cake sitting on a table, Beiste standing nearby, and the cake reads “Congratulations! Finn ~ UW Sam ~ LSU Dave ~ GT”

Casey tugs a little on Dave’s sleeve, less to get his attention and more because he seems to need a tangible way to express his excitement. “Look at your _cake_ , David!” he breathes.

“Holy cow,” Dave responds in a whisper. “This is so cool!”

“You’re football _heroes_!”

“Yeah we are!” Finn shouts, coming up next to Casey and ruffling his hair. Casey’s indignant squeak is half-hearted and he laughs as he rearranges his hair into some semblance of order.

“Hey, Finn,” Casey says, still laughing. “Congratulations!”

“Yeah, dude, congrats,” Dave echoes Casey, holding out his fist.

Finn bumps knuckles with Dave. “You, too, man! Are we the baddest of asses or what?”

“We’re something, anyway,” Dave laughs. “I think I’m still in shock.”

“I’m drinking from the cup of glory,” Finn boasts. “I’m the boss of the whole world.” Casey giggles.

“I thought we were just having cake.”

“Cake and cups of glory, dude,” Finn assures Dave. “It’s like a buffet of awesomeness.”

Dave looks around the restaurant, taking in all the people there. “What is this, the football team, the Cheerios, and glee club?”

“Weirdest mix ever, right?” Finn says. “Oh look, there’s Britt and Santana!” Finn goes over to Brittany and puts his fist up for a bump; Brittany responds by patting Finn on his fist.

“Finn’s excited,” Dave remarks unnecessarily. “I guess I should say hey to Beiste.”

“Okay,” Casey nods. “I’ll just find a place to sit down. Or stand, I guess.”

“Nah, c’mon, we’ll find a seat in a few minutes. I want some of that cake, anyway.”

“I do like cake,” Casey confesses. “Anyway, I forgot to eat dinner, so I guess it’s a cake-dinner instead?”

“You know that old comedy routine? Cake has eggs, and wheat, and milk... something like that.”

“You mix milk and flour, you get glue. Add eggs and sugar, you get cake,” Casey says, solemnly. “Where does the glue go? That one?”

“Nah, the one about how nutritious a breakfast cake can be.”

“Oh, I don’t think I know that one,” Casey says, trailing through Pat’s in Dave’s wake. “The glue one always really upset me, though, because I thought about eating all that glue, and it made me feel sick. One time I asked my dad about it, and anyway, apparently there’s not really glue in cake, so...” Casey’s voice trails off.

“Well, let’s have a piece, anyway.” Dave reaches the table and grins at Coach Beiste. “Hey, Coach.”

“Dave!” Beiste greets him with a grin. “How does it feel?”

“Surprising!”

“Have a slice of cake!” she urges. “Hey, Casey. You want a nice big piece?”

Casey smiles at Beiste. “Sure! Thank you so much!” He accepts the cake-laden plate eagerly, but doesn’t eat any until Dave has his own slice.

“Thanks, Coach,” Dave nods at her. “This is awesome,” he adds, gesturing with his fork towards the cake and the handwritten congratulatory banner she just finished tacking up on the wall.

“Glad to do it.” Beiste claps him on the shoulder. “I know you boys will make all of us proud.”

Dave mumbles a thank you around his mouthful of cake, and then he and Casey wander off to the side, claiming two chairs amongst a mess of them.

 

Casey has been nervously checking the time on his phone, underneath the table where David won’t see, for the last half hour or so, torn between asking David to take him home and hoping David doesn’t notice the time. Mostly the latter, because time with David is almost enough to outweigh the nagging fear that he’s already passed the nebulous “too late” and will have to deal with the fall out.

At slightly past 11, David sighs a little. “I need to get back home, Dad mentioned looking over the paperwork in detail when I got back,” he says in an undertone to Casey. “I can get someone else to take you, though, if you want to stay longer.”

Casey shakes his head rapidly. “No, it’s your celebration, David. I don’t want to stay if you’re going.” He tries not to cringe as his own words. “I mean, it would be weird, since I don’t play football or do glee.”

“Hey, you could always try out for the Cheerios next year,” David laughs. “All right.” He raises his voice a little. “I gotta get going, guys. It’s been fun.”

There’s a chorus of “see ya” from the remaining McKinley students, and Puck gives Casey a high five as David and Casey head towards the door. Back out in the cold air, Casey pulls his jacket around himself and stomps his feet a little.

“I’d be a terrible Cheerio,” Casey says, shivering a little. “No rhythm.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s not really the team for you,” David agrees. He unlocks the truck and swings himself inside. Casey climbs up in the passenger seat and pulls the door closed behind himself.

“I don’t know what team would be good for me,” Casey shrugs. “I’m not really athletic or anything. Or coordinated. Or, you know. What teams are looking for.” He rubs his hands together to warm them as David starts the truck. As the heat turns on, the windows fog, and Casey draws a little picture on the glass with his finger tip. “So, back to my house, I guess,” he says, his voice soft and resigned.

“Yeah,” David says, putting the truck into gear. “Thank god I didn’t have much homework tonight!”

Casey laughs a little. “Probably your teachers would understand, anyway. This is a big deal, David. You should get a night off to celebrate.” Casey sneaks a look over at David, watching his big hands grip the steering wheel. It makes him feel a tiny bit better for some reason, just looking at David being solid and strong and _there_. It also makes it that much harder to go home.

“Maybe,” David concedes. “Just seems like getting the news on a Friday would have made more sense!” He looks over at Casey for a second, grinning, then turns his attention back to the road. Casey smiles to himself a little.

“But then you’d have to wait extra days!” Casey says, trying not to countdown the short drive to his house, burying the tightening feeling in his chest in conversation. He can hear his voice getting shriller as he talks. “And then, that would be, just, so much longer for you to wait, right?” He takes a deep breath to quell the rising sensation of not getting enough air. “At least now you know, and you get to go ahead and start making all those plans.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” David nods as he pulls up to the curb in front of Casey’s house. The house is dark, and David frowns. “You want to borrow my flashlight?” He flips down the glove box and pulls out a Maglite.

“No, it’s okay,” Casey says quickly. “I let myself in in the dark all the time. The porch light doesn’t always work. Bad wire or something, it’s fine, really.” He wills himself to open the door and get out of the truck, but he can’t quite make himself do it. “So, um, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” David grins. “See you tomorrow, Case.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, David,” Casey says, forcing himself to put his hand on the door handle. “And congratulations again. I’m still really proud of you.” He opens the door and slides out of the truck, giving David a shy wave before he shuts the door behind him and carefully walks across the rest of the driveway to his front door, fumbling in his back pocket for the key to let himself in.

Casey closes the front door, but watches through the little window as David pulls out of the driveway. He keeps watching until David’s tail lights disappear before heaving a small sigh and walking through the dark house to his bedroom. He kicks off his jeans and throws his coat on the foot of his bed, then pulls on David’s giant black hoodie, climbing into bed without even bothering to do anything else like put on pajama pants or brush his teeth. He can’t even muster the energy to do more than turn on his alarm before wrapping himself up in the warm layers of hoodie and blankets, but he still doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.


End file.
